Sublime
An inspiration engine for ideas
I tell myself she was a luxury, like fruit out of season, lucky to have but temporary.
Philipp Meyer • The Son
single-note tales seldom bear rereading.
Mary Karr • The Art of Memoir
Her love was of the lily variety;
Vladimir Nabokov • Laughter in the Dark (Vintage International)
And though the snow smothered the valley and the milk froze in the dairy, my soul thawed.
Hannah Kent • Burial Rites
