“The first page held a picture of a hazel blossom that Catherine had drawn. It had been pulled from its file, laminated with clear plastic, and secured to the album with gold photo corners. Below the drawing was my daughter's… — 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
“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
“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
“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
“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
“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
“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
“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
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
“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
“While I worked, I thought about Earl's wife, tried to bring forth an image of the once-passionate woman: her tired, withdrawn, unsuspecting face.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
“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
