“All I really wanted was to try and live the life that was spontaneously welling up within me. Why was that so very difficult? (…) When authors write novels, they usually act as if they were God and could completely survey and comprehend some person’s history and present it as if God were telling it to Himself, totally unveiled, in its essence at all points. I can’t, any more than those authors can. But my story is more important to me than any author’s is to him, because it’s my own; it’s the story of a human being—not an invented, potential, ideal, or otherwise nonexistent person, but a real, unique, living one.”
– Demian by Herman Hesse.
“One of the men of the manor leans forward now. “What was it like to kiss such a lass?” There is a longing in his voice. This is more than lechery – those gathered here yearn for the touch of a woman tender and soft. I see in their faces an aching hunger for a woman’s grace, all her winsome ways.”
– Sinful Folk by Ned Hayes.
“What was your intent with this sparring of yours? To entice them? To entice me?” At his accusation, a hot flush of mortification floods my body, for I was not trying to entice anyone. I reach out and shove him— hard— surprised when he gives way. “If that is the case, then it is their fault and not mine. I wished only to keep my own skills honed.” I follow up with another shove, which he again allows. “Simply because your thoughts are base does not mean I must accept the taint you would lay at my feet.” And then, realizing he is no longer as guarded as he was, I sweep my leg wide, knocking his out from under him, satisfied when he lands flat on his back in the dirt.”
– Mortal Heart by Robin LaFevers.
“I thought how, if you knew me, you might look twice at me, bend your thoughts my way and see if they snap quickly back, or linger.
But you don’t know.
And you never will.
For I am forbidden from telling.”
– All The Truth That’s In Me by Julie Berry