novelsnerd (Anshrah)

“Who am I? Who am I?”
“You’re Jude St. Francis. You are my oldest, dearest friend. You’re the son of Harold Stein and Julia Altman. You’re the friend of Malcolm Irvine, of Jean-Baptiste Marion, of Richard Goldfarb, of Andy Contractor, of Lucien Voigt, of Citizen van Straaten, of Rhodes Arrowsmith, of Elijah Kozma, of Phaedra de los Santos, of the Henry Youngs. You’re a New Yorker. You live in SoHo. You volunteer for an arts organization; you volunteer for a food kitchen. You’re a swimmer. You’re a baker. You’re a cook. You’re a reader. You have a beautiful voice, though you never sing anymore. You’re an excellent pianist. You’re an art collector. You write me lovely messages when I’m away. You’re patient. You’re generous. You’re the best listener I know. You’re the smartest person I know, in every way. You’re the bravest person I know, in every way. You’re a lawyer. You’re the chair of the litigation department at Rosen Pritchard and Klein. You love your job; you work hard at it. You’re a mathematician. You’re a logician. You’ve tried to teach me, again and again. You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.”

"And who are you?"
"I'm Willem Ragnarsson. And I will never let you go.”
― Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

“Is it true?” “According to my lawyer, yes.” “Who’s your lawyer?” “Google.”
― Ali Hazelwood, Not in Love

“Oh, and I kind of brought Gabriel’s cook,” I said, stumbling up to him. “We could use her, right?”
“Yeah, fine, fuck, whatever.” He entered the house and started pounding up the stairs. “Bring everybody. Doors are open. Why the hell not?”
...
“Oh, and one more thing.” I ran, catching up to him and jumping up on the stair above him.
He stopped in his tracks, letting out another sigh. “I think I might cry.”
― Penelope Douglas, Hideaway

“When something was strange, everyone thought they had the right to come stomping in all over your life to figure out why.”
― Sayaka Murata, Convenience Store Woman