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Quote by Hilary Thayer Hamann

Work

Anthropology of an American Girl

This book is a personal narrative that delves into the complexities of cultural heritage and the journey of a young girl as she navigates her identity in the context of American society. The story offers insights into the challenges and triumphs of growing up with a diverse cultural background. more

Author

Hilary Thayer Hamann
Hilary Thayer Hamann

Hilary Thayer Hamann is an American author born on November 7, 1962. Her works are known for their unique perspective and profound insight into various fields such as history, culture, and society. more

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“I write poems. I'm often laughed at for doing so. My friends and foes, who were born in 1980's or even later aren't savvy with this concept of the reading and writing poems. They're probably not at fault because while they were being brought up in their respective environments, they weren't really taught how to appreciate poetry. Sadly, those same indifferent souls are now raising their children in the same robotic way, keeping them away from an art form as pure as poetry. Anyway, on the path my life, my poems, written and unwritten, are spread throughout like breadcrumbs. Alas! I'm savouring these breadcrumbs alone because no one has chosen to walk by me, maybe because they're skeptic about the taste of these crumbs. They've hypothetically assumed that these crumbs, these poems are bitter. Sigh! They aren't courageous enough to gather the strength to actually taste them. Perhaps this way, the real sweetness of my crumbs, of my poems stays obscured to them. But I haven't let them crush this sweetness beneath their feet and that's why, I've chosen to walk alone instead. How can I not savour these crumbs if I already know that they're leading me to the apex of my life? How can I not write poems if a voice inside me is constantly pecking my hands to give it a form? This voice is my meditation. This voice is my shadow, a shadow which is stubborn enough to remain intact even when I'll be gone. This voice is my concrete, the concrete that I'm made up of. This voice is my power, the power that will shake your senses. This voice is my poetry.”

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“He cupped her face in his hands, crushing his lips into hers. Angry and raw after all these months, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It wasn’t gentle or sweet. It was powerful and full of need. A quiet moan escaped from her throat, inciting another rushing wave of desire through him. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue inside her mouth.”

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“The moment she opened the bakery door, his blue eyes had filled with desire. No man had ever looked at her so intensely, like at any moment he would rip her clothes off and ravage her on top of one of the tables. Tension built between her legs as his eyes slowly took in every inch of her. But when he’d kissed her—her body exploded. Everything she’d wanted over the last year had come to fruition. Then, just as fast, he’d disappeared.”

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“Kaden leaned against the doorframe, running his fingers through his dark hair. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. His upper body was tanned and cut to perfection. A sparse patch of dark hair covered the center of his chest while a thin line ran down the middle of his stomach muscles. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, his stomach. She’d seen professional athletes on television with an eight-pack but hadn’t thought normal people could actually achieve them. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to run her fingers over each of his pecs.”

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“Then it’s settled.” He pulled her into an embrace. “It’s been a long night for both of us. How about I drive you home?” Inhaling a deep breath, she was overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of his bare skin. Desire surged through her—a euphoric sensation, vibrating all the way to her core. A second later, her nipples pebbled. Worried he might notice, she pulled away from him, covering her chest with her crossed arms. What was happening to her? “I think that’s a good idea.”

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