When you write fiction, you're like a bird making a nest. You remember every little story ever told you. It's funny how things come back to you. — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“She often wondered what the hell was wrong with men. Sex could be fun, natural, good. Why did they have to corrupt it? Why… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“It felt something like being in love, but without the weight of having to choose just one heart to hold on to, and without… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“Bree knew this habit of hers rankled Lara more than any other--her ability to make a decision and announce that there would be no… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
Every woman needs secrets,' her mother said with a smile then, her eyes meeting Sally's in the rearview mirror. 'Remember that when you're old… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“The moment a woman was born determined so much of who she was allowed to become.” — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“Her mother… told Kate that after women got out of lousy marriages, they generally had the good sense to stay away from the institution… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“You could sell crack on the street and go to jail for decades. Or you could sell a woman, and be back out by… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
For whatever reason, various outlets and individuals are committed to making the world think that young girls don't talk or care about feminism anymore,… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
When I started writing my second novel, I decided that one of the characters would have a passion for dollhouses, which allowed me to… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
Reading poetry gives me a sense of calm, well-being, and love for humanity - the same stuff more flexible women get from yoga. — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
I read 'Love in the Time of Cholera' when I was 19, and I still think about the characters. — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
“awake. James would force himself to close his eyes. For the next few hours, he’d lie there, thrashing around, trying to get comfortable. By… — J. Courtney Sullivan Copy Share Image
