Anne C

“The redhead whispered, “No, what’s a man like down there?” “Oh.” Sidheag wrinkled her nose. “Unimpressive. They have”—she gestured toward her own nether regions with one hand—“a sort of dangly sausage—lacks tailoring.” Sophronia blinked in surprise. That sounded worse than Sidheag’s description of a werewolf shift.”
― Gail Carriger, Curtsies & Conspiracies

“My birthday is in March, and that year it fell during an especially bright spring week, vivid and clear in the narrow residential streets where we lived just a handful of blocks south of Sunset. The night-blooming jasmine that crawled up our neighborhood's front gate released its heady scent at dusk, and to the north, the hills rolled charmingly over the horizon, houses tucked into the brown. Soon, daylight savings time would arrive, and even at early nine, I associated my birthday with the first hint of summer, with the feeling in classrooms of open windows and lighter clothing and in a few months no more homework. My hair got lighter in spring, from light brown to nearly blond, almost like my mother's ponytail tassel. In the neighborhood gardens, the agapanthus plants started to push out their long green robot stems to open up to soft purples and blues.”
― Aimee Bender, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

“She wanted to be extraordinary, to possess a savage glitter.”
― Joy Williams

“I never shall be an old maid, because I have elected to be a Girl Bachelor.”
― Kate Bolick, Spinster: Making a Life of One's Own