Perhaps the unattached, the unwanted, the unloved, could grow to give love as lushly as anyone else. — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
If it was true that moss did not have roots, and maternal love could grow spontaneously, as if from nothing, perhaps I… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“Here you are, obsessed with romantic language-a language invented for expression between lovers-and you use it to spread animosity.” — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“I pinched tendrils of periwinkle at the roots until they hung in long, limp strands, and grabbed a dozen bright white spider mums. I… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“So, what’s your secret?” Renata asked. I squinted my eyes in question, tightened my shoulders. “To staying thin?” she asked. “When you eat like… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“I studied the way the individual flowers clustered around the single stalk, their sharp points fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Something about… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“I had been loyal to nothing except the language of flowers. If I started lying about it, there would be nothing in my life… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“some believe lily of the valley brings a return of happiness.” — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“Do you really think you’re the only human being alive who is unforgivably flawed? Who’s been hurt almost to the point of breaking?” — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“Have you ever given anyone a red rose?" Grant asked. I looked at him as if he was trying to force-feed me foxglove. "Moss… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“Elizabeth went from stand to stand as if I wasn't there, exchanging cash for heavy bags of produce: pink-and-white-striped beans, tan-colored pumpkins with long… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
She was perfect. I knew this the moment she emerged from my body, white and wet and wailing. Beyond the requisite ten fingers and… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“What're you reading?" "Gertrude Stein." I shook my head. I'd never heard of her. "The poet?" he asked. "You know, 'A rose is a… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“While I worked, I thought about Earl's wife, tried to bring forth an image of the once-passionate woman: her tired, withdrawn, unsuspecting face. Would… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
“When my hunger grew to the point of distraction, I climbed onto buses and rode to the Marina, Fillmore Street, or Pacific Heights. I… — Vanessa Diffenbaugh Copy Share Image
