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Quote by Alan Cohen

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Alan Cohen

Alan Cohen, born on February 28, 1950, is a renowned writer whose works span a variety of genres, including humor, philosophy, and self-help. Cohen is known for his unique sense of humor and profound insights, and his books have been beloved by readers worldwide. more

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“Everyone, this is the new girl. Elder knows her. New girl, this is everyone.” A few people look up politely; some actually smile. Most, however, look wary at best, disgusted at worse. The nurse closest to me jabs her finger behind her ear and starts whispering to nobody. “What’s wrong with her?” I ask Harley as he leads me to the table he was sitting at. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re all mad here.” I giggle, mostly from nerves. “It’s a good thing I read Alice in Wonder-land . I definitely think I’ve fallen into the rabbit hole.” “Read what?” Harley asks. “Never mind.” All around me, eyes follow my every move. “Look,” I say loudly. “I know I look different. But I’m just a person, like you.” I hold my head up high, looking them all in the eyes, trying to hold their stares for as long as possible. “You tell ’em,” says Harley with another Cheshire grin.”

DifferentMadStrangerNervesIntroducingAlice In WonderlandHarleyAcross The UniverseAmy MartinCheshireDown The Rabbit HoleWe Are All Mad Here
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“Somebody had piled blankets over my shoulders. That was my first hazy thought as I awoke. Heavy, warm blankets. Something tickled my neck and I twitched. The blankets twitched back. My eyes snapped open. In one moment I realized that what tickled my neck was a tuft of black hair, the blankets were a warm body, and the Gentle Lord was draped over me like a lazy cat, his head resting on my shoulder. He raised his face and smiled. The stories were right that called him "the sweet-faced calamity," for he had one of the most beautiful faces I had ever seen: sharp nose and high cheekbones framed with tousled, ink-black hair and stamped all over with the arrogant softness of a man just out of boyhood who had never been defied. He wore a long dark coat with an immaculate white cravat tied at his neck and white lace foaming at his cuffs. If he had been human, I might have taken him for a gentleman. But his eyes had crimson irises with cat-slit pupils. My heart was trying to pound its way out of my chest. I'd spent my whole life preparing for this moment, and I couldn't speak or even move. "Good afternoon," he said. His voice was like cream, light but rich. I pushed myself off the ground and sat up. He sat up too, with languid grace. "What," I managed to choke out. "You were asleep," he said. "I got so bored waiting that I fell asleep too. And now here you are." He tilted his head. "You were a good pillow but I think I prefer you awake. What's your name, lovely wife?”

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