Mariska

“One person believes in sprites and visits the sacred grove, and another believes in Jesus and goes to the church. It’s just a matter of fashion. There’s no use in getting involved with just one god; they’re more like brooches or pearls, just for decoration. For hanging around your neck, or for playing with.”
― Andrus Kivirähk, The Man Who Spoke Snakish

“I wonder, my heart closing up like a night flower, exactly how many minutes of separation it takes to turn someone you love into a stranger.”
― Emily Bain Murphy, Splinters of Scarlet

“It was somehow balm to the soul to be surrounded by things of beauty, of style, of taste. It was the Danish equivalent of stopping to smell the roses.”
― Julie Caplin, The Little Café in Copenhagen

“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
― T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea