The fruit tasted foreign but indigenous, like sunlight a tree had changed through patience.
My soul found ease and rest in the companionship of books.
I learned that if I could read, I could cook. I surprised myself I like it.
Every woman I had ever met who walked through the world appraised and classified by an extraordinary physicality had also received the keys to an unbearable solitude. It was the coefficient of their beauty, the price they had to pay.
A story is a living thing, it moves and shifts.
The English language on her tongue became a smoke-screen, without her eyes changing expression in the least.