And in her long nights, in her long house of smoke and miller's stones, she baked the bread we eat in dreams, strangest loaves, her pies full of anguish and days long dead, her fairy-haunted gingerbread, her cakes wet with tears.

Catherynne M. Valente
Catherynne M. Valente

Weitere Zitate von Catherynne M. Valente

Zum Autor