5
" ...Pouring every bit of the emotion she felt into her kiss, Blair melted into her partner until she could feel own her knees weaken. “I love you so much. It… it frightens me, but I can’t hold back.” “It frightens you?” “Yes. More than I can tell.” “Don’t be frightened,” Kylie murmured. “I’ll never hurt you, sweetheart. I swear!” “I know,” Blair said. “It’s not that… it’s… oh, I don’t know what it is. I’m just scared.” “Don’t let love frighten you. It’s freeing. Trust me.” “I do. I do trust you.” “That’s what love is,” Kylie said fervently. “It’s jumping out of a plane without a parachute, but knowing with every fiber of your being that you’re safe. Your lover will protect you. No matter what. It’s blind faith, Blair. Totally blind faith.” " I’ve never… ever felt this way before,” Blair said, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so frightened, Kylie. Please, please don’t hurt me.” She held on to her lover with all of her might, sobbing so hard she felt sick. “I’ll always be there for you. I’ll catch you. I promise I’ll catch you. "
15
" Tell your daughters how you love your body.
Tell them how they must love theirs.
Tell them to be proud of every bit of themselves—
from their tiger stripes to the soft flesh of their thighs,
whether there is a little of them or a lot,
whether freckles cover their face or not,
whether their curves are plentiful or slim,
whether their hair is thick, curly, straight, long or short.
Tell them how they inherited
their ancestors, souls in their smiles,
that their eyes carry countries
that breathed life into history,
that the swing of their hips
does not determine their destiny.
Tell them never to listen when bodies are critiqued.
Tell them every woman’s body is beautiful
because every woman’s soul is unique. "
― Nikita Gill
18
" ...while epic fantasy is based on the fairy tale of the just war, that’s not one you’ll find in Grimm or Disney, and most will never recognize the shape of it. I think the fantasy genre pitches its tent in the medieval campground for the very reason that we even bother to write stories about things that never happened in the first place: because it says something subtle and true about our own world, something it is difficult to say straight out, with a straight face. Something you need tools to say, you need cheat codes for the human brain--a candy princess or a sugar-coated unicorn to wash down the sour taste of how bad things can really get.
See, I think our culture has a slash running through the middle of it, too. Past/Future, Conservative/Liberal, Online/Offline. Virgin/Whore. And yes: Classical/Medieval. I think we’re torn between the Classical Narrative of Self and the Medieval Narrative of Self, between the choice of Achilles and Keep Calm and Carry On.
The Classical internal monologue goes like this: do anything, anything, only don’t be forgotten. Yes, this one sacrificed his daughter on a slab at Aulis, that one married his mother and tore out his eyes, and oh that guy ate his kids in a pie. But you remember their names, don’t you? So it’s all good in the end. Give a Greek soul a choice between a short life full of glory and a name echoing down the halls of time and a long, gentle life full of children and a quiet sort of virtue, and he’ll always go down in flames. That’s what the Iliad is all about, and the Odyssey too. When you get to Hades, you gotta have a story to tell, because the rest of eternity is just forgetting and hoping some mortal shows up on a quest and lets you drink blood from a bowl so you can remember who you were for one hour.
And every bit of cultural narrative in America says that we are all Odysseus, we are all Agamemnon, all Atreus, all Achilles. That we as a nation made that choice and chose glory and personal valor, and woe betide any inconvenient “other people” who get in our way. We tell the tales around the campfire of men who came from nothing to run dotcom empires, of a million dollars made overnight, of an actress marrying a prince from Monaco, of athletes and stars and artists and cowboys and gangsters and bootleggers and talk show hosts who hitched up their bootstraps and bent the world to their will. Whose names you all know. And we say: that can be each and every one of us and if it isn’t, it’s your fault. You didn’t have the excellence for it. You didn’t work hard enough. The story wasn’t about you, and the only good stories are the kind that have big, unignorable, undeniable heroes. "
― Catherynne M. Valente