“She walks barefoot into the humid night, moonlight on her freckled shoulders. Near a huge, live oak tree on the edge of her father's cotton fields, Sidda looks up into the sky. In the crook of the crescent moon sits… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
I have been missing the point. The point is not knowing another person, or learning to love another person. The point is simply this:… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
A scent that disturbs me and delights me. It smells like ripe pears, vetiver, a bit of violet and something else- something spicy almost… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
“You cannot escape from life. Life is not a book. You can't just set it down on the coffee table and walk away from… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
“In the crook of the crescent moon sits the Holy Lady, with strong muscles and a merciful heart. She kicks her her splendid legs like the moon is her swing and the sky, her front porch. She waves down at Sidda like she has just spotted an old buddy.” — Rebecca Wells Copy Share
“The words shot through Vivi's bones and blood and muscle, and her body relaxed, so that when her feet touched the ground they met… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
I never claimed to be a low-maintenance gal, but when I'm writing, it's particularly challenging. I lose things constantly: my watch, my glasses, my… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
“Some women pray for their daughters to marry good husbands. I pray that my girls will find girlfriends half as loyal and true as… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
“sadness usually does, as soon as I sat down and began to listen. The small press had a correspondingly” — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
“What does my smile look like now? Vivi wondered. Can you reclaim that free-girl smile, or is it like virginity- once you loose it,… — Rebecca Wells Copy Share Image
