Why is everyone so bloody obsessed with hashtags? What on earth do you want to do with a hashtag? Can you use it to shoot your way out of here?
Girls by Theresa Ikoko, Scene Seven (Page 28)
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@lovelyquotesfrombooks
Why is everyone so bloody obsessed with hashtags? What on earth do you want to do with a hashtag? Can you use it to shoot your way out of here?
Girls by Theresa Ikoko, Scene Seven (Page 28)
You know I’ve never seen people so afraid. I saw babies, barely able to walk, by themselves. Where were the parents? Somewhere drunk with fear . . . forgetting they had a child. I saw Christina’s baby sister. She was just standing there, and everybody ran past her. Back and forth. Kicking her out of the way like she was a football. She didn’t even cry. Or maybe the dust had soaked up her cry… I know they were scared [ … ] But just kicking her? [ ... ] Kicking her back and forth. Trampling on her. Bursting her little body without bullets . . . fear . . . Fear killed her . . . not a gun . . .
Girls by Theresa Ikoko, Scene Four (Page 18).
This scene had such a big impact on me because it made me think of my daughter. I was pregnant when I read this play, and I cried at the thought of a little baby girl lost among the chaos.
A woman or girl with a book in her hand is a catalyst, a pioneer. You never know how far she'll go.
Anita Diamant
Source: http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/anita-diamants-books-that-made-a-difference#ixzz5EJ0g45zL
The more a daughter knows the details of her mother's life--without flinching or whining--the stronger the daughter.
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, page 2.
If you want to understand any woman you must first ask about her mother and then listen carefully.
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, page 2.
The thought should have brought her joy and exhilaration and a sense of freedom. Instead, it brought a disconsolate, deep mourning, like the crying over a dead child.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 243.
He looked at Nan with a concerned frown, then at Ariel with an inquisitive glance, and then shrugged as though to signify that all women, human or elven, were insane and he, a mere male, not able to understand them.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 206.
LOLLLLLL!!!!
But in reality he remained something other, a tangle of physical body and magic--the raw power that had formed when the hearth had first been created from the burning heart of the sun.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 225.
So much of my writing day feels like well-digging. Sometimes I dig 200ft down before coming back up, dry. Every day I search for water. ... At some point, I get deep enough that suddenly, amazingly, I find it – the great rush of water that I had hoped and pleaded for.
Yaa Gyasi
Source: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/oct/28/yaa-gyasi-my-writing-day
Firefly fairies danced up near the ceiling, flashing their fire in a way that Nan had learned to recognize as excitement or anxiety.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 201.
...a magical being must always tell you the price of his magic.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 153.
His voice had a blank, brittle quality--odd, like a glass that breaks, far off, in another room, and can only be guessed at.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 105.
Writing is this thing where you are really privileged to know a world or to know a people that no one else knows, so you quickly have to write it down--quickly, before you stop seeing it or you stop experiencing it--to let the rest of the world experience it.
Theresa Ikoko, 2016.
Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vD47JptSlJY at 1:00-1:15.
A stock was left in her bed, as ancient law commands, a painted piece of tree trunk, or an enchanted twig that, by charm, looked and seemed to breathe like her...
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 65.
'It is the good people who leave a stock in the bed of a baby they steal, my brother. The good people from beneath the hill.'
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 55.
Her voice flowed like honey over warm bread: easy, sweet, and persuasive, penetrating and drenching every pore.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 51.
The voices of the small, scurrying creatures of the night surrounded him. Hurry, hurry, hurry, cried the mind of the mouse skittering through the undergrowth, while above him the sharper mind of the owl screamed of hunger and blood.
Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt, page 31.