Quotes from Tia Williams

Then he met Eva, and she breathed the same air. She stuck to his bones, imprinted herself on his brain—and thoroughly rearranged his world, in the best way.

You don't date, Mommy. What even is your type, the Invisible Man?

When someone went too long without touch, they became hypersensitive to the slightest graze. There was truth to it. Last weekend, Eva had almost had an orgasm when her hairstylist shampooed her. And her hairstylist was a grandmother of six.

She remembered that they were never sober. Shane drank to seek oblivion; she stayed high to outrun pain. They did it together—but she cut herself in private.

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2019, THIRTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD EVA MERCY NEARLY choked to death on a piece of gum. She'd been attempting to masturbate when the gum lodged in her throat, cutting off her air supply.

Hiii!' she shouted. 'I'm Charlii. With two i's.' 'We all have two eyes,' Shane muttered.

Which one of you is the turtle?" "I'm sorry?" asked Eva. "Which one of you is the turtle? You know, the one who leaves and comes back and leaves again, while the other waits?" she said, spinning on her heel. "It's a metaphor, writers. Think about it.

How," she started, "do you explain this to people?" "I don't." "That simple, huh?" Eva was awed. "It's ours," he said simply. "Sacred.

Eva bit her lip, trying to keep her guilty, thrilled smile from spreading. Shane. She'd divulged all to him.

Miles Davis said there are two categories of thinking: the truth and white bullshit. The national anthem is white bullshit.

cracked her open, and she'd come spilling out, slow and sweet as honey. She wanted to hate letting him get inside again. She'd been so willing to give it all up.

Listen, caring about things don't make you soft. It makes you alive.

Over the years, during lazy daydreams, she'd sometimes allowed herself to fantasize about running into him. But in her thoughts, they'd still been kids. She couldn't imagine them relating to each other as adults. Whatever Shane sparked in her, she'd thought she'd outgrown. But they weren't who they used to be. They were better.

Is Eight based on a real person? You describe her so intimately. It's like I'm peeking in on something I shouldn't see." "Do you think Eight's real?" "Definitely," she said, nodding. "Then she is." "That's not an answer." "I know." He grinned.

I know you twist history to make things easier for you, but I've never made you do anything. Do you ever think about your role in all of this?

Don't you want to know why?" With twinkly eyes, he said, "Tell me later." "Bold of you to assume there'll be a later." "Bold of you to assume there won't be.

History doesn't repeat itself," said Shane. "But it rhymes." "Who said that? Nas?" "Mark Twain.

When bad things happened over and over, it was a sign. God was telling you to change. Your attitude, your hair, your address.

She has the complexion of a wealthy infant.

Long ago, she'd learned that life could be bitterly disappointing if allowed. There were blows and stumbles, but your job was to stay interested in the world.

I'm not good at normal-people small talk. I always want to get weird. Start a conversation about wildly unfounded conspiracy theories. Liminal spaces. Dermoids.

I get one slice of dick and turn into a wide-eyed Disney princess.

You wanted to either pinch his cheeks or beg him for a hard fuck on a soft surface.

When we were together I felt like someone else had stolen all your smiles before me