When We Lost Our Heads

The female body was particularly absorbent when it came to shame. If you wrung out any woman’s body, you would discover it was soaked in shame.

Every decent friendship comes with a drop of hatred. But that hatred is like honey in the tea. It makes it addictive.

If they wanted to have time to read a book in the evenings, that was as important as any of Napoleon’s ambitions. Because what a triumph it was for any woman to have time for herself—and to be able to do something that benefitted her imagination alone.

That was perhaps a definition of innocence: not knowing what one was capable of.

The moon was full. It looked like a breast engorged with milk because of all the babies crying in the night.

People became free in literature first. It was through books that new ideas entered the general population.

Her words squiggled onto the page like the laces of a girl running for her life with untied boots.

There was a pervasive idea that girls were all on the brink of madness. It took much less than anyone had previously believed to push a girl over the edge. A single novel could do it. A complicated idea could do it.

the violent delight of female desire.

Every family is a cruel, intransigent monarchy.

The world is terrified of a certain type of monstrous woman. That's why they invented these ideas of ugly and beautiful. They say we are beautiful now because we are young and stupid. But the more we accomplish and have to say, the uglier we are described as being... Perhaps Mary Shelly is her mother's monster.

A woman's freedom is the most important thing in the world. It is the end that justifies all means. One day you will figure out how to be free.

Her heart leaped like a frog out of a child’s fist.

There was nothing quite like trauma to stir the creative juices.

It was true that a woman was weaker than a man in physical strength. But a woman was filled with rage.

I think music should be terrible. It should make people weep.

No. I have no interest in appealing to men rationally. We need to terrorize them. We should be in control first. And then they can ask us for the permission to vote. Men need to be held accountable for their crimes against humanity. There needs to be a reckoning.

Her shame was absorbed in every part of her body. She felt it in her toes. The female body was particularly absorbent when it came to shame. If you wrung out any woman’s body, you would discover it was soaked in shame.

The girls were playing in the labyrinth in Marie's garden one afternoon when they declared their love for each other. Every declaration of love is a magic incantation. It casts a spell on your future.

Loving everyone is the same thing as loving nobody at.

She felt jealousy pounding like enemy soldiers at the gate.

When I laid eyes on what a heart actually looked like, much about affection and love made sense to me.

Only your enemy can tell you how powerful you are.

There was a stillness. But it was the stillness before a storm. It was a pregnant silence. It was a vicious silence. It was the silence of someone biting their tongue.

The Swan, a poem. A swan has white feathers, but it does not want to be clean. It only wants others to look at it. Then hates them when they do. The swan hates anyone except its life partner. They spend all their time gossiping about everybody else. And they cannot have anything but contempt for other swans. Or any other creature. But why should they? Nothing. No creature can ever get between two swans. And you cannot tear them apart. Once they fall in love, they become horrible in exactly the same way.

Sadie's hand were always cold. She held them to her face and blew on them. She exhaled and little puffs of smoke came out of her mouth even though it wasn't winter yet. It was winter out on the sea apparently. Perhaps the winter didn't have anything to do with temperatures. Perhaps it had to do with distance and loneliness.

The children whispered to one another, pretending they were on pirate ships and that there were vicious sharks below. And they clung to the branches of the trees as if for safety, as though the trees were there mothers. And the trees could not help but be domesticated, and found themselves longing for children in their arms.

Les livres ressemblaient beaucoup aux rats. Ils entraient dans les murs et se tapissaient dans des cachettes. Ils proliféraient en secret, invisibles. Un seul exemplaire pouvait être partagé entre une vingtaine de personnes. Et quand ces gens lisaient le livre, il se mettait à exister dans leur tête. Dès qu’un livre vit dans l’esprit, il a le don de se répandre par les idées et la conversation. Et quand une personne qui a lu votre livre parle à une personne qui ne l’a pas lu, elle lui en transmet l’univers sans même le savoir.

• Many of the women were breastfeeding, as they wanted to make sure the children were silent while Mary was talking.

If she pressed herself to learn, she would be aware of her own limitations and that frustrated her.