I will never, ever drink whiskey again. From now on, it’s strictly sherry.
Can we really conquer chaos so easily? If that were so, I should be able to prune the pandemonium of my own soul into something neat and tidy rather than this maze of wants and needs and misgivings that has me forever feeling as if I cannot fit into the landscape of things.
Pastoralia by George Saunders. Possibly my favorite book. Its one of the weirdest books Ive ever read. If Monty Python and Thomas Pynchon had a love child, and it was raised by Frank Zappa on a weird commune, that would be this book.
I’m going to eviscerate you and leave your organs on a pike in the yard as a warning to those who wear large jewelry.
Didn’t you have any sadistic nannies who told you these tales to keep you quiet and well behaved at night? Heavens, what’s to become of the Empire if governesses have lost their touch for scaring the wits out of their girls?
Its so daunting to walk into a classroom or a school auditorium. Its like the worlds weirdest blind date. I know all the students are thinking, Who is this tool standing up in front of us?
We have work to do if you are not to be a total failure like high-waisted, acid-wash jeans.
You are unique, and this is a beautiful, beautiful thing, grasshopper.
Without further warning, the sky opens up and cries.
The dull pain of truth weights my soul, pulling it under. I am left hopelessly awake.
We’re comfortable with women in certain roles but not comfortable with women expressing anger or fully accepting their power. The most daring question a woman can ask is, ‘What do I want?’
There was something about the island that made the girls forget who they had been. All those rules and shalt nots. They were no longer waiting for some arbitrary grade. They were no longer performing. Waiting. Hoping. They were becoming. They were.
Do not be tempted by English roses. Their beauty fades, but their thorns are forever.
As one, they leap, laughing, and that is where we leave them – mouths open, arms spread wide, fingers splayed to take in the whole world, bodies flying high in defiance of gravity, as if they will never fall.
I’ve had so many bikini waxes, I cry every time I see a Popsicle stick.
She bestowed the blessing of a wild girl’s lips.
What kind of person doesn’t let you have gummi bears?
I had a friend who said, “You don’t have an internal critic. You have an internal sadist.”
It was a kiss small in its ministrations but epic in its feeling.
When you looked up to the sky and cried ‘Why?’ sometimes the sky shrugged, yet other times it answered with warm assurance of linked hands.