“querencia. It refers to that place in the ring where a bull feels strongest, safest, where it returns again and again to renew its strength. It’s the place we’re most comfortable, where we know who we are—where we feel our most authentic selves.”
“It fascinates her, to see a creature so busy in an act of creation.”
“He’s already run the standard battery of questions, checked the check boxes, computed the data: hears voices = schizophrenic; too agitated = paranoid; too bright = manic; too moody = bipolar; and of course everyone knows a depressive, a suicidal, and if you’re all-around too unruly or obstructive or treatment resistant like a superbug, you get slapped with a personality disorder, too. In Crote Six, they said I “suffer” from schizoaffective disorder. That’s like the sampler plate of diagnoses, Best of Everything.
But I don’t want to suffer. I want to live.”
“Shortly after we met, my mother died. That day at her funeral, he stood beside me, I knew he was my angel. "Why are you crying?" I said, watching him wipe his eyes. "Why you are not crying?" he said. "Your mother is dead. You are daughter with no mother. I love you. Of course I cry.”
“But if she has to try too hard, perhaps its the universe's way of telling her this isn't to be. She doesn't believe in God, but she believes in a natural order, a higher directive, to be gleaned and mulled and acted upon.”
“Our mother might've said this: that immigrants are the strongest, that we leave our homes behind and rebuild. Everywhere we go, we rebuild.”
“No, for God's sake, I'm not bloody suicidal. And I'm not proposing, either. Forget I said anything.”
“And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.”
“What you need Lois, is a man. All your artistic brilliance, wasted, toiling away in the sordid day-to-day of White’s little paper empire. Reporting on traffic mishaps. Domestic trifles. Wondering if you can afford a pair of shoes. Knowing you can’t afford the really good wines, the really exquisite things. That suit, for instance. Nice, but not the standard you’re used to.” “We’re not here to discuss my wardrobe.” “Or your writing career? How much have you gotten done, I mean, really done Lois?” “Still looking for an evening you aren’t exhausted? When will that be, Lois?” “The hotel. Or I’m out of here.” – Lois Lane & Lex Luthor”
“The books downstairs were reciting their poetry to each other, rubbing together, whispering through the leathery covers. Wine was flowing through the water pipes. You had caught my leaping heart in your hands like a fish.”
“Chessie … shit, Chessie, I love you so bad.” His teeth on her throat, biting hard, his lips soothing the spot. “So fucking much, so … so bad.”
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