This book was an incredibly challenging, emotive, and enriching journey. I think it‘s the first time that I‘ve had a delayed reaction to the fact I was crying while reading. That‘s how engaged and impacted I was by this story.

Litsy Crew: How would you describe your personal library in just a few words?

Me: 👀😳

Knowing a person‘s name is not the same as knowing a person.

1. An unreliable narrator is sometimes the most important one.
2. There is such a thing as someone loving you too much.
3. Wanting your life to be better isn‘t the same as wanting someone else‘s life.

🖤🖤🖤 ( out of 5)

What can I say about a book dedicated to the pursuit of sleep in order to escape the disappointments of reality: “ I was more of a somniac. A somnophile. I‘d always loved sleeping.” Bravo, Ottessa 👏🏾

Very relevant

Memories, ghosts, dread can be like that, in my experience—they can come and go at their own convenience.

But I used their plaster casts as a guide and practiced very diligently in the mirror, relaxing my face while keeping an aura of benign resilience, such as I saw in those dead men‘s faces. I mention it because it is the face I wore at work, my death mask.

I am not one of those women who try to make people happy all the time. I‘m not that strategic.

I‘ve never read a book before with a narrator that is so unlikable and yet so engaging. It‘s a fascinating read.

A quick and entertaining read.

I hope this book is as interesting as this picture. Y‘alls reviews are scaring me 😭 Source: findac

To be human is to lie, after all. Our minds tell lies to our hearts and our hearts tell lies to our souls.

Each jagged shard of light in the darkness is a tiny message sent from the recesses of time. “You are alone,” the stars say. “You are alone. You are still alone.” Artist: Bart Cooper

Dearest, Once there was a boy who loved a boy who did not love him back. Once there was a girl who loved a boy who loved a boy. Once there was a girl who loved a boy who loved her back. Mostly. If love is light and food is light and life is light, are we always in day? Are we doomed to never sleep? Ever yours, Angela Artist: king_midas

She even made a diorama of the day she and her husband met—a man with a broken leg at the bottom of a gully in the middle of a flowery forest; a woman with a broken heart wandering alone, happening by, and binding his wounds. And how real they were! The visceral pain on his face, the sorrow hanging over her body like a cloud. The quickening of the heart at that first, tender touch. This is how love can begin—an act of kindness. Artist: king_midas

Ona protests, quietly, that she doesn‘t believe that at all. She doesn‘t believe in authority, period, because authority makes people cruel.

We are women without a voice, Ona states calmly. We are women out of time and place, without even the language of the country we reside in. We are Mennonites without a homeland. We have nothing to return to, and even the animals of Molotschna are safer in their homes than we women are. All we women have are our dreams—so of course we are dreamers.

“She went on to say that, in her opinion, doubt and uncertainty and questioning are inextricably bound together with faith. A rich existence, she said, a way of being in the world, wouldn‘t you say?”

“Most of us, she said, absolve ourselves of responsibility for change by sentimentalizing our pasts.” (Image: The Whitney Plantation)

“She once explained to me that, as a Molotschnan, she had everything she wanted; all she had to do was convince herself that she wanted very little.”

“The appreciation of art can make a sucker.”

But in what black lake, in what deep forest has she found these cruel tales where the heroes die at the end, after first saving the world?

Short and spicy! ⭐️ for Gillian Flynn

So I wear the name as a badge of honor. That someday I may not totally bore some really smart people. The question is: How do you find smart people? 🤔🤔🤔🤔

This is something I understand now. This is the miracle—of other people, of the whole world, of the mystery of it. That things change. That people grow. That stories can be rewritten over and over, demons recast as heroes, and tragedies as grace. That Owen can never be mine, not really, and that is a good thing, because it means I can truly love him. That love often looks a lot like letting go.

Dr. Leblanc says that hoarding happens when the brain mixes up signals, confuses trash for treasure, makes things meaningful that don‘t have any meaning at all. Maybe it‘s the same for the bad memories we carry, for associations overlaid onto a place or a book or an old story.

“Maybe we were always broken. Maybe I was always a liar, and Mia was always weak. Maybe what happened to Summer didn‘t turn us but only revealed what was already there.”

“Authors unconsciously write themselves into their books. They transform familiar places into fictional landscapes. It‘s the same way when we picture aliens, we‘ll imagine they‘ll look like us. Psychologists call it transference.”‘

Fan fiction leads to murder.... AGAIN! ☠️😱

I loved this book. I‘m still decompressing from the most amazing ride my mind has ever taken.

“With this particular species of crazy, you stop trying to make things better. You start trying to maximize the bad. You pretend to like it. Eventually you start working to make everything as bad as possible. It‘s an avoidance mechanism.” Jennifer looked Carolyn directly in the eyes. “It can‘t actually work. That‘s why they call it crazy.”

“ Of course, genuine emotion is the very essence of self. It cannot ever be unfelt, cannot be ignored, cannot even be channeled for very long. But, with practice and care, it may be hidden. “

This book is wild, y‘all .....and I‘m into it 👏🏾.

The book was incredibly boring and underdeveloped. The characters were either forgettable, annoying, or all of the above.