Francesca Lia Block

It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.

You are so intense. Like a storm. It's shocking how intense you are.

But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can't see the dark. The dark still sees you.

You can't doubt so much, Psyche

Nightingale"Did I wound you, mutilate. Take away your voice. Did I cut something from you. Leave you locked in silence?This is what you do: you sing. Every part of you. Your locks of hair sing, your eyes, your hands, your smile. If I listen closely I can even hear your blood.Was I the one that took that away?Go down to the water where we used to swim. Stand under the sky at dawn when the sky is streaked with blood. Open your mouth and shout our secret to the waves. The ocean will be your voice. You won't have to carry anything alone. Little Sister, my Spring, April. Little nightingale. Sant at the edge of the water. Your voice will come back to you. Maybe. If I am silent.

What sexual preference do you hope she has?_ __appiness._ Isnt that cool?

Magic can be found in stolen moments.

...It felt like they were telling each other secrets. Everything they said felt like that__hispered, tender, full of other meanings, like when you tell someone a dream or talk about your astrological signs as code for all the things you love about each other.

They were laughing and their hair was shining like leaves in moonlight, their limbs long as saplings. I thought, Girls are magical at this phase, girls are invincible, nothing can touch them. I didn__ think __s_ because I didn__ feel that; I felt other, on the outside, watching them.

I was starting to learn how to forget the things that made me sad. It was like a charm you followed step-by-step, collecting and blending the ingredients, placing everything in its proper place. It was the magic of forgetting.

I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.

I always wondered what it must be like to lose a twin__f somehow Mary felt it like it was happening to her. If she felt physical pain.

She wasn__ crying at all. This was what scared him the most. Where had she locked up the things he__ seen her feeling that day when she heard? She wasn__ that big a girl to hold all of it__o hold her brother__ life and his death inside of her. To hold all his long-limbed raging tidal motion and all the loss of that.

Welcome Beauty, banish fear.

Sylvie wishes the anti-depressants had been around when she was in her early twenties, not only to rescue her from the dark tunnels that came when her brother first got sick, but also to keep her from fucking all those assholes.

He might be faithless but I believe in him.

Each of us has a family tree full of stories inside of us, Dirk thought. Each of us has a story blossoming out of us.

You have to make your own family, your own life.