I’m beginning to think that maybe everything that happens makes sense. Like, if it didn’t make sense, how could it happen?
“A man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you.”
― A Thousand Splendid Suns
― A Thousand Splendid Suns
“Lonely, ain't it?
Yes, but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else's. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain't that something? A secondhand lonely.”
― Sula
Yes, but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else's. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain't that something? A secondhand lonely.”
― Sula
Zandile’s 2025 Year in Books
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