mika

“But there’s a Sufi story that challenges the notion that people believe only because they need an opiate. Rabe’a al-Adiwiyah, a great woman saint of Sufism, was seen running through the streets of her hometown, Basra, carrying a torch in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. When someone asked her what she was doing, she answered, ‘I am going to take this bucket of water and pour it on the flames of hell, and then I am going to use this torch to burn down the gates of paradise so that people will not love God for want of heaven or fear of hell, but because He is God.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“You’re implying that I’m not presentable in public unless I have a full face of makeup on.”
“No. I absolutely did not imply that.”
“I suppose I should take three hours to curl my hair, too, right?” I make my voice tremble. I am the victim of horrendous misdeeds. “Because I’m not pretty enough the way I am? I suppose you’re embarrassed to bring me around your family unless I conform to society’s impossible beauty standards for females?”
His eyes narrow. “You’re right. Your hair’s an embarrassment in its natural state and your face is so anti–female beauty that if you go out like that, I’d insist on you walking backward and ten feet away from me. I want you to go upstairs right now and paint yourself unrecognizable.” He arches his eyebrows. “Did I do that right? Are those the words you’d like to put in my mouth?”
My chin drops. He lowers his gaze to a newspaper and flicks the page. He did it for dramatic effect. I know he didn’t get a chance to finish reading the article he was on.
“Actually, I’d like to put an apple in your mouth and roast you on a spit,” I say.
“Go ahead and wear pajamas to dinner, Naomi. You think that would bother me? You can go out dressed as Santa Claus and I wouldn’t care.”
Now I genuinely am insulted. “Why wouldn’t you care?”
He raises his eyes to mine. “Because I think you’re beautiful no matter what.”
Ugh. That’s really low, even for him.”
― Sarah Hogle, You Deserve Each Other

“They slow dance when it rains. I have no idea why, but every
time the sky turns gray, you’ll find them together.” I smiled. “I remember
once Dad barged into the Women’s Room, which is completely
improper. You’re supposed to be invited in. But it was raining,
and he wasn’t going to wait to sweep her away. And one time
he dipped her in the hallway, and she just laughed and laughed.
She was still wearing her hair down then, and I’ll never forget how
it looked like a waterfall of red. It’s like no matter what happens,
they can find themselves again there.”
― Kiera Cass, The Crown

“Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.”
― Stephanie Perkins, Anna and the French Kiss