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Quote by Siobhan Curham

“These seats taken?" Chloe gestured at at the empty chairs. Amber nodded. "What, by all your imaginary friends?" "Yes, actually," Amber snapped. "And they are way better company than you.”

Quote by Siobhan Curham

Book:Tell it to the Moon
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Tell it to the Moon

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Siobhan Curham

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“Gavin appeared and vanished numerous times each day checking up on me. Now and then he’d randomly pop the question, often disguising it within our conversations. “Did you know that bubbleberries are in season right now? They’re blooming all over Dreamland.” “I love those berries. They’re fun and strange.” I recalled the time that Gavin and I had burped up iridescent-purple bubbles after swallowing handfuls of berries. They were deliciously sweet. Gavin nudged me with his elbow. “Not half as strange as you are.” I laughed. “So, Annabelle, will you come with me?” I nearly spoke without thinking, but caught myself, careful not to slip and say the word, yes. “Sorry, Gavin. I can’t.”

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“SCOTT JEFFERS: My imaginary friend has multiple personalities and one of them thinks he’s me. Obviously, this shouldn’t be a problem. And it wouldn’t be for most people. But it’s starting to get out of hand. The delusion is becoming unbearable. Yes, I know. It does sound crazy. But it’s not. I just need to find a way to get him cured of his multiple personality disorder. Or, well, at least that one. The one that thinks he’s me.”

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Book:MY IMAGINARY FRIEND HAS MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES AND ONE OF THEM THINKS HE’S ME
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“SCOTTIE JEFFERS: Okay. Everything he said is a complete lie. I’m not the imaginary one. He is. He’s one of my imaginary friend’s multiple identities. Not the other way around. I don’t know what I’m going to do about this. People look at me like I’m insane when I tell them this. Which, I guess, I understand. It does sound insane, I suppose. Well, I mean, no supposing. It does sound like absolute lunacy. But only if you don’t know me.”

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“I got to believe that the people who can really be trusted are those who have kept their promises, not under the influence of pleasing people, but under the influence of doing what they have devoted their lives to be doing!”

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“What would she eat? Meat? Vegan? Vegetarian? Pescatarian? More important, would her taste buds be open to spices? I call this research ocular reconnaissance. The woman meanders toward one of the butchers and points to a goliath-sized leg of lamb---definitely a carnivore. I wonder how she'd prepare her meal---perhaps with slices of garlic stuffed into the meatiest parts of the top, slow roasted with rosemary, with potatoes on the side, the juices, the herbs, infusing into everything. Served with a mint sauce? Or is she the type who colors outside the lines and does something less traditional?”

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“Perhaps I should go back a few years earlier. My parents, who travelled from Odessa, the Russian city on the Black Sea, shortly before the 1914 war, were part of a vast migration of Jews fleeing Tsarist oppression to the dream of America that obsessed poor men all over Europe. The tailors thought of it as a place where people had, maybe, three, four different suits to wear. Glaziers grew dizzy with excitement reckoning up the number of windows in even one little skyscraper. Cobblers counted twelve million feet, a shoe on each. There was gold in the streets for all trades; a meat dinner every single day. And Freedom. That was not something to be sneezed at, either. But my parents never got to America.”

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“My mother never stopped cooking. She never stopped nourishing me. On Sundays, her face would disappear into steam from simmering carrots, celery, and onions, as she prepped our soup for the week. Her food processor held a prominent spot on the kitchen counter, mixing homemade sauces. The kitchen always smelled of tahini. She showed me, leading by example, that real food is the right food. It is the only food.”

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Book:Bonjour Kale: A Memoir of Paris, Love, and Recipes
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