48410. “Before the sparrow arrived, you had almost stopped thinking about flight. Then, last winter, it soared through the sky and landed in front of you, or more precisely on the windowsill of the covered balcony adjoining your bedroom. You knew the grimy window panes were caked with dead ants and dust, and smelt as sour as the curtains. But the sparrow wasn’t put off. It jumped inside the covered balcony and ruffled its feathers, releasing a sweet smell of tree bark into the air. Then it flew into your bedroom, landed on your chest and stayed there like a cold egg.” ― Ma Jian, Beijing Coma
48394. “It’s been five years since she was here, but the memory replays itself across my mind as if I were standing beside her on that quiet afternoon. We all leave markers behind – dead or alive – vibrations that trail behind us through all the places we’ve been. And if you know how to see them, the imprints of a person can be found – and followed. But like all things, they fade with time, become less clear, until finally they are washed over with new memories, new people who have passed through here.” ― Shea Ernshaw, A History of Wild Places
48388. “There is no history in a place until we make it, until you live a life worth remembering. We have made a history here – some of it was more folklore than truth, more fear than anything else. But some of it was good. Some of it lives inside each of us, the history of this wild, wild, land…. I wonder if she will love this place as I do. If she will feel rooted here at birth. If she will look up at the stars and know, we’re all just trying to find our way home.” ― Shea Ernshaw, A History of Wild Places
38362. “And late at night when he folds her in his arms beside the crackling fire and kisses the space just behind her ear, she knows he’s falling in love with her. And maybe he’s loved her long before this, long before he pulled her from the water on the night of the summer solstice—the night that is a blur in her memory. But she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want to know about the before. Because she loves him now, with the wind seeping through the cracks in the cottage windows…the world stretched out before them. They have eternity. Or even if it’s just one life, one long, singular life—that’s enough.” ― Shea Ernshaw, The Wicked Deep