Sharice Gongalez

“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they executed the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. I'm stupid about executions. The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers -- goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me at every street corner and at the fusty, peanut-smelling mouth of every subway. It had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive all along your nerves.

I thought it must be the worst thing in the world.

New York was bad enough. By nine in the morning the fake, country-wet freshness that somehow seeped in overnight evaporated like the tail end of a sweet dream. Mirage-gray at the bottom of their granite canyons, the hot streets wavered in the sun, the car tops sizzled and glittered, and the dry, cindery dust blew into my eyes and down my throat.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“How did I become President?
I began by setting an example, hanging out my own dirty laundry in front of Village Earth right from the start. Every ugly little life secret became a matter of public record. Of course, that included sordid love-life details.”
― Nancy Omeara, The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]

“Is it the darkness of my face or the darkness of space? And is there a difference?”
― Andri E. Elia, Borealis: A Worldmaker of Yand Novel

“The relater slipped off Zam’s head like mellifluous honey and slid onto the floor deflated and seemingly sated.”
― Frank Lambert, Ghost Doors