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Quote by Mwanandeke Kindembo

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Resistance To Intolerance

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Mwanandeke Kindembo

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“How do people leave these cycles when they don’t have the resources I had or the support from their friends and family? How do they possibly stay strong enough every second of the day? I feel like all it takes is one weak, insecure moment in the presence of your ex to convince yourself you made the wrong decision. Anyone who has ever left a manipulative, abusive spouse and somehow stayed that course deserves a medal. A statue. A freaking superhero movie. Society has obviously been worshipping the wrong heroes this whole time because I’m convinced it takes less strength to pick up a building than it does to permanently leave an abusive situation.”

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“Lydia had devoted herself- and her husband's money- toward making their home a "destination." She fancied herself floating through a household of the East Coast elite, dazzling them with continental cuisine, priceless art and antiques, and a perfectly stocked wine cellar. They would tour her gardens and marvel at her ability to create such a cultural oasis in the southern desert. In reality, every evening Lydia watched her guests meander across her yard to the Belles', where they delighted in such southern delicacies as moonshine in Mason jars, bawdy conversation, and shoofly pie.”

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“A dozen or so guests gathered in the conservatory for breakfast. The sweet scent of jasmine perfumed the air and an aviary of lemon yellow canaries sang for them. They drank fresh-squeezed juice that smelled like orange blossoms and spooned perfect bites of soft-boiled eggs from fragile shells. White sunlight poured through the glass dome above their heads like an affirmation from heaven, and a constant breeze blew over them as though fanned by invisible servants. Beyond the open doors stretched emerald lawn. Beyond the lawn, the ocean, blue as a robin's egg.”

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Book:The Rock Orchard
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“In the north of Tehran, right by the foothills of Tehran’s bit of the Alborz mountain range is Niavaran. The district is an entanglement of slopes and roads where way back in the day, going back to the Qajar era, villas and houses were all you would see. Now though it has become an extension of the city center with buildings and towers scattered across its narrow roads. Even with all of the congestion, the weather is a few degrees cooler than the rest of the city and it remains one of the “port out, starboard home” districts in Tehran.”

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“For a short waterfall it is surprisingly noisy and too close to the car park for him to risk shouting over it so they stand there in silence observing it. Obviously she wants to and he finds that he can tolerate the distraction, using the time to check her out. Posh punk, he thinks, hard to see which is dominant. Frayed denim skirt and black leggings under a very classy cashmere coat. She trawled a high-end branch of Oxfam or she's genuinely indigent with a good source of hand-me-downs. Whichever, she has a near-perfect profile and pink hair.”

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Book:Badlands
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