I realized as I walked through the neighborhood how each house could contain a completely different reality. In a single block, the there could be fifty separate worlds. Nobody ever really knew what was going on just next door.
P. 146 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch
Then came a time I can hardly describe, a season underground. A bird trapped in a sewer, wings beating against the ceiling in that dark wet place, while the city rumbled on overhead. Her name was Lost.
Page 43 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch
"Always learn poems by heart," she said. "They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they’ll make your soul impervious to the world’s soft decay." I imagined my soul taking these words in like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood into patterned agate.
Page 9 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch
How sweet simply to go back to sleep, as the sand does, until the wind thinks to awaken it again.
Little Bee, p.259 by Chris Cleave
But experience has taught me that you cannot value dreams according to the odds of their coming true.
My Beloved World
by Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor (via yourkindoftruth