“Jonah has that strange look on his face. He must have another of Maryrose’s memories. Probably that she once sang a lullaby on a windy day. OR SOMETHING ELSE TOTALLY USELESS. “Is it about canoeing?” I ask, trying to be positive. He scratches his head. “It is! Maryrose was good at canoeing!” Oh! Yay! “Did she ever stop a boat?” “Yes!” he exclaims. Great! “How?” I ask. “With paddles!” he says. Argh. “Thanks for nothing, Maryrose’s memories!” I yell. “We have to stop this canoe!”
― Sarah Mlynowski, quote from Once Upon a Frog
“Do you know I ate frog legs once?” Jonah asks. Uh-oh. “You what?” screams a horrified Frederic. “It’s true!” Jonah says, clearly not catching the stop talking look I’m shooting him. “We went to a French restaurant for our dad’s birthday and he ordered an appetizer of frog legs. Remember, Abby? We tried them! Both of us did!” “It was before I knew you,” I tell Frederic apologetically. “They tasted like chicken!” Jonah exclaims. He’s right. They did taste like chicken. “I think I’m going to throw up,” Frederic moans.”
― Sarah Mlynowski, quote from Once Upon a Frog
“Well, there are other versions of the story,” I say, thinking out loud. “Besides the throwing and the kissing.” “Like what?” Frederic asks. I bite my lip. This is going to be worse than the frog-legs conversation. “Well, there’s the one where the princess chops off the frog’s head, and then he turns into a prince,” I say all in a rush. Frederic’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “I do not wish to try that one.”
― Sarah Mlynowski, quote from Once Upon a Frog
“We find our way to the marble kitchen, open the fancy silver fridge, and serve ourselves a heaping plate of coleslaw and chicken fingers. “Mmm,” I say. Prince makes sloppy eating sounds. “Delicious,” says Jonah. He smiles at Frederic. “Tastes just like frog legs.” I laugh so hard I snort coleslaw out of my nose.”
― Sarah Mlynowski, quote from Once Upon a Frog
“I’m still irritated at the end of the day when my brother, Jonah, and I are standing outside school, waiting for our dad to pick us up. It doesn’t help when Brandon says, “Bye, Crabby Abby,” as he strolls past me. He walks home from school by himself. Either his parents trust him to make his way home alone or they think he’s awful, too, and are hoping he gets kidnapped.”
― Sarah Mlynowski, quote from Once Upon a Frog
Sarah Mlynowski
Born place: in Montreal, Canada
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“per hour. Handbrake knew that he could keep up with the best of them. Ambassadors might look old-fashioned and slow, but the latest models had Japanese engines. But he soon learned to keep it under seventy. Time and again, as his competitors raced up behind him and made their impatience known by the use of their horns and flashing high beams, he grudgingly gave way, pulling into the slow lane among the trucks, tractors and bullock carts. Soon, the lush mustard and sugarcane fields of Haryana gave way to the scrub and desert of Rajasthan. Four hours later, they reached the rocky hills surrounding the Pink City, passing in the shadow of the Amber Fort with its soaring ramparts and towering gatehouse. The road led past the Jal Mahal palace, beached on a sandy lake bed, into Jaipur’s ancient quarter. It was almost noon and the bazaars along the city’s crenellated walls were stirring into life. Beneath faded, dusty awnings, cobblers crouched, sewing sequins and gold thread onto leather slippers with curled-up toes. Spice merchants sat surrounded by heaps of lal mirch, haldi and ground jeera, their colours as clean and sharp as new watercolor paints. Sweets sellers lit the gas under blackened woks of oil and prepared sticky jalebis. Lassi vendors chipped away at great blocks of ice delivered by camel cart. In front of a few of the shops, small boys, who by law should have been at school, swept the pavements, sprinkling them with water to keep down the dust. One dragged a doormat into the road where the wheels of passing vehicles ran over it, doing the job of carpet beaters. Handbrake honked his way through the light traffic as they neared the Ajmeri Gate, watching the faces that passed by his window: skinny bicycle rickshaw drivers, straining against the weight of fat aunties; wild-eyed Rajasthani men with long handlebar moustaches and sun-baked faces almost as bright as their turbans; sinewy peasant women wearing gold nose rings and red glass bangles on their arms; a couple of pink-faced goras straining under their backpacks; a naked sadhu, his body half covered in ash like a caveman. Handbrake turned into the old British Civil Lines, where the roads were wide and straight and the houses and gardens were set well apart. Ajay Kasliwal’s residence was number”
― Tarquin Hall, quote from The Case of the Missing Servant
“During these years of loss and sorrow, I have had to reconcile myself to the truth about my father, Osama bin Laden. I know now that since the first day of the first battle against the Soviets in Afghanistan, my father has been killing other humans. He admitted as much to me, back in those days when I was his tea boy in Afghanistan. I often wonder if my father has killed so many times that the act of killing no longer brings him pleasure or pain. I am nothing like my father. While he prays for war, I pray for peace. And now we go our separate ways, each believing that we are right.”
― Jean Sasson, quote from Growing Up Bin Laden: Osama's Wife and Son Take Us Inside Their Secret World
“How important is it for us to maintain protected communal homelands? Are our traditions and languages worth the cost of carrying on the fight? Certainly the easier and more expedient option is simply to step away from who we are and who we wish to be, sell what we have for cash and sink into the stewpot of North America.”
― Thomas King, quote from The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America
“Just because you keep coming back to the same person doesn't make it true love, it might mean you haven't found one yet.”
― Adriane Leigh, quote from The Mourning After
“She was also damn cute. Not beautiful or stunningly pretty, but she was cuter than any girl with that much attitude had a right to be, and somehow the bouquet of flowers that colored her skin in every shape and variety seemed like it belonged there.”
― Jay Crownover, quote from Rome
This Lullaby
Eleven Minutes
The Brief Wondrous L...
A Bend in the Road
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