He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme. — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
I’m not a woman you bring home to Mother, pick out china patterns with, or Mary forefend, breed. I’ve seen a chunk of the universe, true, but there’s still so much more to see. I doubt I’ll ever cure this… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
I’d never known it was possible to love as he did— with complete devotion yet devoid of promises. — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
“Vel once told me that the heart isn't like a cup of water. You can't drain it. It's more like an endless well, and… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
There were different kinds of strength. I knew that now. It didn't always come from a knife or a willingness to fight. Sometimes it… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
“When people stop writing down their stories, the soul the world is lost.” — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
Is that love? It seems like a pale word, too easily tossed about by people who don’t know the meaning of it, who twist… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
Maybe I was just one of those people who couldn't rest easy unless things went catastrophically wrong. — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
Here in the enclave, one didn't prosper by demonstrating too much independent thought. — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
“My heart hurt when I remembered him, but the alternative was forgetting, and that was the final kind of death—when nobody told your story… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
“He cocked his head, listening, then whispered to the big man, "We've got a group of four, incoming. Don't scare them off with your… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
“These are the results of public security cams at work, recording routinely those who come and go. Apparently, it functions as a wondrous preventative… — Ann Aguirre Copy Share Image
