Sublime
An inspiration engine for ideas
Hannah, her small heart awash in pity, reaches up to take her hand, but her mother doesn’t notice. In a moment Hannah contents herself by clasping her own fingers behind her back.
Celeste Ng • Everything I Never Told You
‘Lyds,’ my mum said when I was leaving. She looked out of place in her new room, which was decorated with someone in their eighties or nineties in mind. Mum has for the last couple of centuries looked like she is in her early forties. She still has black hair, just with some streaks of grey here and there. Her eyes are still bright.
Claire Kohda • Woman, Eating
When we’re all together, the world revolves around Evelyn, and why wouldn’t it. Her long hair shimmers in the glare of high summer, sun-bleached at the temples. She has new things to wear: a peach sundress and sandals with leather butterflies sewn on the ankle straps. She’s full of herself in the lovely outfit, gaining great pleasure out of her own
... See moreFrances Macken • You Have to Make Your Own Fun Around Here
“Obviously, Doctor,” she said, “you’ve never been a thirteen-year-old girl.” * * * The Lisbon girls were thirteen (Cecilia), and fourteen (Lux), and fifteen (Bonnie), and sixteen (Mary), and seventeen (Therese).
Jeffrey Eugenides • The Virgin Suicides
She moved to Maine shortly after her husband died, when Jane’s mother was ten.
J. Courtney Sullivan • The Cliffs: Reese's Book Club: A novel
Avec Odile, pensais-je, qu'une telle soirée eût été charmante et gaie ! Elle aurait eu son regard lumineux des jours de bonheur. Elle aurait joué à toutes les loteries et eût été heureuse de gagner un petit bateau de verre filé. Pauvre Odile qui aimait tant la vie et qui l'aura si peu connue, alors que des êtres faits pour la mort, comme Isabelle
... See moreAndré Maurois • Climats (Littérature Française) (French Edition)
If her hair was white now, and her skin was soft with wrinkles and memories, well, that was no matter at all. There was still something unfinished around her eyes; she wasn’t done yet. She was a story, not an epilogue. And if she chose to narrate her own life one word at a time as she descended the stairs to meet her newest arrival, that wasn’t
... See moreSeanan McGuire • Every Heart a Doorway (Wayward Children Book 1)
Nothing now in the weeds and litter to interest her, and her whole life consisting of her own disappointment: helpless against the arrival of her bad temper, she kicked a crushed Red Stripe can at her feet.