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Quote by Michael Bassey Johnson

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Michael Bassey Johnson

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“Arabella squinted back. “You’re almost nine months pregnant. Shouldn’t you be soft, and happy, and glowing? When are we gonna see some glow?” Arabella clearly had a death wish. Nevada finished her pickle spear and licked honey off her fingertips. “I’m the size of a house, the kid inside me keeps kicking me in the kidneys, I have to pee every five minutes, my legs cramp, and I can’t get out of bed by myself. I have to roll to the side like a walrus, which is harder right now since my husband is somewhere in the Russian Empire and he isn’t there to steady me. And how was your day of being young, beautiful, skinny, and carefree? Why aren’t you glowing?”

“You are like a rose Soft, glowing and evolving It’s time for you To let go of the deadly thorns Never trust The guy who claims He misses you but never puts In effort to actually Set plans with you Fall in love With someone Who helps you to fly high And not with someone Who cannot lift you up When you crash down You are like a rose Soft, glowing and evolving It’s time for you To let go of the deadly thorns”

“Now directly above her, transiting the meridian, was the new crescent moon. No longer a chalky white, it was as silver as a piece of polished jewelry, somehow shining and sparkling despite the fact that it should have been nearly invisible that close to the sun, traveling through his bright day. "Oh, how pret---" Rapunzel started to say, but then she was distracted because her hair began to glow. Just like when she killed the chickens-- but more. Brilliantly, with the white light of the diamonds of her (Flynn's) crown, with the whiteness she imagined the foam of a midnight sea would look like. She picked up a hank of hair and let it hang from her hands; it was like holding molten silver chains or all the distant rivers seen from her tower, gathered up together by some unimaginable fairy-tale giant.”

“Her hair glowed. It shimmered and shone and pulsed, the full length of it flowing behind Rapunzel and lighting up the undersides of the trees and throwing soft illumination on all the paler leaves and mushrooms, gleaming for a moment where it hit a drop of dew or sap. The moths who had fled returned, like a fluttering train of silken flowers on a long, magical wedding veil, following the mesmerizing river of silver light.”