“Humans fear death so much, but there is no death,” he whispers. “There is only the illusion of it. We can never cease to be. We must stay like this. Forever.”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“If this is foolish, I don’t want to be wise.”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“My mother always says that love is like a snakebite, a venom slowly spreading through your veins.”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“I know the path by heart, by heart- a funny expression, so true. My heart knows right where to go.”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“My heart knows right where to go”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“I don’t love or hate humans. I respect them. They shape themselves, in a way that we angels do not. They tell lies and sleep around and curse, and they try to define themselves so valiantly. Who am I? they keep asking. Why am I here?”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“I guess I always knew that our time together would be fleeting. Ephemeral.”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
“Angela’s in love with an angel.”
― Cynthia Hand, quote from Radiant
Cynthia Hand
Born place: in Boise, Idaho, The United States
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“He backed me into a wall, caging me in, got in my face and explained he is most definitely into me.”
When I was done speaking, her lips were parted and her eyes were glazed.
“KC?” I called when she didn’t say anything.
“Shh,” she shushed me. “I’m having an orgasm.”
― Kristen Ashley, quote from Raid
“Obviously, he psyched you out. He mind-fucked you big time.”
― Elle Casey, quote from Don't Make Me Beautiful
“The lunatic's visions of horror are all drawn from the material of daily fact. Our civilization is founded on the shambles, and every individual existence goes out in a lonely spasm of helpless agony.”
― William James, quote from The Varieties of Religious Experience
“Marie-Neige was on the shore, near the light, a tin outline. She lifted the lamp above her head and called out his name and he said Yes and she turned. She could see the ribs on his body as he came into more and more light. She placed the lamp on the grass and picked up her cotton dress and began drying her hair, so it was no longer plastered around her face, then came nearer to him and rubbed his hair dry with the dress. So now they looked as they did in a room, or across a table, no longer appearing as strangers to each other. On his knees, behind her, he pulled her thighs back to him in a slow rocking, as if he wanted her now to search for him, the heat of her cave onto his coldness, missing each other, and she said his name again and he moved into her, her softness and the unknown warmth.
How many stories were read between them in which they had discovered the codes of eventual love and said nothing in their shyness. She’d barely been touched by him—his cupped hands once on her shoulders, his hard grip when she pulled the splinter out of his eye, his holding her small hands across a table. It was as if they had both known what all this would be like, these doorways and reflections of each other, this cautious modesty and the secrets of herself she had hidden from others. All that witnessed them was a lamp in the grass. She moved back onto his lap so she could control their movement, slow him into more intimacy, so his hands could hold the quiver in her stomach and there could be an equal pleasure. They heard nothing, not the sterile thunder or the mock of the bird or the million insects carelessly yelling. Just their breath, as if they were dying beside each other.”
― Michael Ondaatje, quote from Divisadero
“La muerte violenta no tolera ninguna intimidad. Saquea la propia dignidad tan rotundamente como ha arrebatado la vida. El cuerpo es manejado, escudriñado y fotografiado, y en cada paso del proceso se le aplica una nueva serie de dígitos. La víctima se convierte en parte de las pruebas, un objeto expuesto que se exhibe a policías, patólogos, especialistas forenses, abogados y, llegado el caso, jurados. Numeradlo; fotografiadlo; tomad muestras; ponedle una etiqueta en el pie. Aunque partícipe activa, no me resigno a aceptar lo impersonal del sistema. Es como un saqueo al nivel más personal. Por lo menos yo daría un nombre a esta víctima. La muerte en el anonimato no se sumaría a la lista de violaciones que él o ella deben sufrir.”
― Kathy Reichs, quote from Déjà Dead
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