Lyrical Prose Quotes

“To the rhythm of my deep delight, my fingers tickled across the fabric of the sheets and of reality in bursts of euphoria, making them rustle softly yet firmly, just like sun-crisped leaves on concrete in a breeze—prime ASMR.”
― Aura Biru, We Are Everyone

“A faint cry; I can't figure out if it's mine or if it's echoing the other half of my broken heart—the one beating in his chest.”
― Aura Biru, We Are Everyone

“Did his behaviour indicate a red flag?
Massively.
Did I notice it?
Probably.
Did I deliberately choose to ignore it because he was just.so.different?
Absolutely.
Did I feel ashamed for not knowing better, despite knowing better?
Constantly.”
― Aura Biru, We Are Everyone

“Then again, in the early morning hours, when the world outside whispers of slumber, my fingers still trace the outline of a memory. He rests there, in that blind spot between the everyday, when his presence feels most palpable, engraved on the half of the bed that remains unforgivingly empty. What a paradox of loss, this heightened sense of him in the heart of his absence.”
― Aura Biru, We Are Everyone

“Because thee remains there, it is easier for me to go, for thee can be the shore I look back on, the star that remains fixed."
from "The Last Runaway”
― Tracy Chevalier (Author)

“The Auction sells things you won’t find anywhere else, the things that exist only as one piece in the world. And soon, they’ll sell it. The Codex Gigas: a three-feet-tall ancient book some believe the devil himself wrote. Yes, the real devil. Others think the book contains all the secrets of mesmerism. Not that she needs to mesmerize anyone in particular. She only needs to stop stuttering while her new family stares at her.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Her ancestors would fight for her spirit, but so too would the white devils who had come to rule. They had taken first our land and then our souls.”
― Selina Siak Chin Yoke, The Woman Who Breathed Two Worlds

“I could be that tenebrous enigma that floods out your words with sighs and frustration.”
― Moonshine Noire

“Furber had come in the late fall following that enormous summer, now famous, in which the temperature had hung in the high nineties along the river for weeks, parching the fields, drying and destroying; weeks which had, unmindful of the calendar, fallen undiminished into October so that the leaves shriveled before they fell and fell while green, the river level fell, exposing flat stretches of mud and bottom weed, the Siren Rocks were seen for the first time in twenty years, quite round and disappointingly small, and an unmoving cover of dust lay thickly everywhere, on fields, trees, buildings, on the river itself which crawled beneath it blindly like a mole. -- William H. Gass, Omensetter's Luck, p. 97, Penguin Twentieth Century Classics, 1997 (first published by The New American Library 1966).”
― William H. Gass, Omensetter's Luck

“Each moment with you is a verse in the poetry of my heart.”
― Rendi Ansyah, Beyond the Bouquet: A Symphony of Love in Fifty Movements

“Life shouldn't stop just when it's getting started.”
― K.R. Gadeken, Space Station

“The silence between us, around us, rivaled the end of time. The shrubs may have wilted, the river may have evaporated away, every hydrogen and oxygen atom sucked into space. Everything in existence drifting farther and farther away, endlessly and quietly fading.
Then, a pebble slipped into the river, reprimanding the water for staring and reminding it that it had a job to do. With some regret, the river moved on but kept thinking about our stories as it sloshed and trickles back to life.
Soon the fuscus, prompted by the river's resumption of its duties, began to wave back and forth once again, shaking off the droplets the river splashed on its stalks.
The trees around us, taking note of their part in the story, twitched their noir leaves as the wind spurred them on, and a rustling like bells filled my ears.
The clouds, always the last to hear about anything, understood that they too had to move on. So, they scooched along and let the sun have a turn.
We didn't say anything. Didn't move. We simply lay on the brown grass and the black soil as we stared up at the sky, watching the clouds billow past the daffodil sun, our hands, still nested together, keeping us tethered to our reality.”
― K.R. Gadeken, Nabukko

“אור חריף, בוהק וקר, מילא את השמים בשעת הצהריים. אף ענן רך ומעוגל לא נראה באופק; אוושה, ולו
קלה בלתי מורגשת, לא הניעה את העלים הדקים של עצי הפיקוס הנטועים ברחוב; המיית מים משיבת
נפש לא עלתה מהמזרקה הקטנה בקצה הרחוב שעמדה מיובשת, מתפקעת בשמש; צחוקו של ילד, גם אם
דומה ליבבה, לא התגנב מגן הילדים הסמוך.
תם ונשלם.”
― Emanuela Barasch Rubinstein, Intimate Solitude: A Novel

“לעתים רחוקות בראשית האביב, ברגעים נדירים ובלתי צפויים, הים התיכון מתכנס אל עצמו וממאן
לשקף את השמים. רקיע רווי עננים כבדים וים כחול כהה, שמי תכלת מול גלים עמומים וצהבהבים, אור
שמש בהיר ומנגד מים אפרפרים, המראָה המשתרעת עד האופק אינה מניחה לכיפה העצומה שמעליה
להביט מטה ולראות את בבואתה במים הקרירים. רק במקום המרוחק בו נפגשים המים והשמים הולכים
ונמהלים הצבעים, נמזגים לידי ערפל סמיך, אדים שבולעים את צבעי הקשת ונדמים כשער אל עולם נסתר
ולא ידוע.”
― Emanuela Barasch Rubinstein, Intimate Solitude: A Novel

“Fireflies danced in the warm, heavy air. Tarmac wound in a ribbon as smooth as a tumbled stone. The cream house at the end of the cul-de-sac looked like a wedding cake. Tulip poplar trees gathered around with their feather leaves dripping off the boughs.

A strange man, dark and gnarled, rapped at the door three times.

Inside the great hall, Mac Owens, a housewife, set down her brandy on ice.

She peered out at him and revealed a floral print dress.

“We don’t like solicitors,” she said, although she was home alone.”
― Addy Evenson

“You are losing it." A grave voice reaches my ear from my left shoulder. I pull down the visor and open the mirror. My shoulder critic sits there, his legs drooping over my collarbone, his face a mask of tears.

"I am not," I retort. "She was here, clear as day! Well, maybe not 'clear as day' but real enough."

My shoulder critic has been with me for as long as I can remember, born perhaps from only-child loneliness, or simply a part of me, like an arm or leg. He appears unbidden and then disappears again for long stretches of time, but when he is around, he is always dressed to express rather than impress.”
― Alexandra Dionisio