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Quote by Anan$i

“I'd always catch the way you chewed on your pencil as you focused, your scent as you walked by, or the way you made my name sound different even though I had been hearing it the same way my whole life.”

Quote by Anan$i

Book:88
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88

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Anan$i

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“The woman turned to him, and he observed she was someone his own age or a bit younger. Dark, wavy hair and large brown eyes behind schoolmarm glasses. A friendly, olive-complected face. Not stereotypically Southern, if there was such a thing. Greek or Spanish maybe. He wasn’t sure. What he did know was that he felt something then. Something that was shapeless and intangible, but neither quality made it—whatever it was—any less there. It was a shifting of his senses or maybe even of reality itself. You turned a corner and a stunning landscape presented itself, and though you yourself had not changed, everything else had for, after you’d seen this new thing, whatever this thing was, you automatically understood the mechanisms of life could not go back to where they had been before. The sight—though it could more properly be called an experience, encompassing all five senses and even ones not yet discovered—rendered everything before it monochrome and matte. John Pressman had only felt this way twice before in his life with a woman, and this time, he felt it at fifty years, four months, and twenty-three days of age. At a greasy spoon in a small town in Mississippi in the summer of 1961.”

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Book:The Magnolia That Bloomed Unseen
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“. . .a peal of laughter sounded from within the room where the firelight was. . . .it was a boy’s laughter, and the joy of it called to the unhappy Marianne as nothing in her life had ever called to her before. He was standing on the hearthrug as a lord of creation should, his legs straddling arrogantly, his arms above his head as he stretched himself, his laughter caught up upon a prodigious yawn. He was broad-shouldered, strong, yet possessed of an elegance that was strangely mature, taller than she was but much younger. . .the brilliance of it was entangled in the wildly untidy shock of red-gold curly hair and there seemed sparks in his tawny eyes. His face was round and ruddy, with freckles on the nose, but finely featured. He had full red lips and a deep cleft in his chin, and he showed a great deal of pink tongue as he yawned. His coat and waistcoat of vivid emerald green cloth were stained with seawater and torn linings protruded from the pockets. His white cravat was soiled, the straps that should have fastened his long peg-top trousers beneath his instep had snapped, so that they coiled round his legs like delirious green snakes, and his shoes needed a polish. Never was a male so much in need of female attention or so blissfully unaware of his need. . . .she stood with her back against the door, stiff and ungainly, staring at him with great dark eyes that seemed to devour his face with the intensity of her gaze, and she could not move or speak because her heart was beating so madly that it made her feel sick and faint. Her figure might have delayed to plump itself out into the womanly roundness proper to her age, but her heart did not delay to claim this male creature for her own. She was in love, in love at sixteen, desperately in love, as Juliet was, and with a boy who for all his height and strength and maturity was only a child of thirteen years. It was absurd. But then Marianne was never at any time in the least like other girls.”

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Book:Green Dolphin Street
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