Jana

“Funny, how some people take an age to warm, and others simply walk into every room as if it’s home.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Time—how often has she heard it described as sand within a glass, steady, constant. But that is a lie, because she can feel it quicken, crashing toward her. Panic beats a drum inside her chest, and outside, the path is a single dark line, stretched straight and narrow toward the village square. On the other side, the church stands waiting, pale and stiff as a tombstone, and she knows that if she walks in, she will not come out. Her future will rush by the same as her past, only worse, because there will be no freedom, only a marriage bed and a deathbed and perhaps a childbed between, and when she dies it will be as though she never lived. There will be no Paris. No green-eyed lover. No trips on boats to faraway lands. No foreign skies. No life beyond this village. No life at all, unless— Adeline pulls free of her father’s grip, drags to a stop on the path. Her mother turns to look at her, as if she might run, which is exactly what she wants to do, but knows she can’t. “I made a gift for my husband,” says Adeline, mind spinning. “I’ve left it in the house.” Her mother softens, approving. Her father stiffens, suspicious. Estele’s eyes narrow, knowing.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“My name is Adeline LaRue, she tells herself. My father taught me how to be a dreamer, and my mother taught me how to be a wife, and Estele taught me how to speak to gods.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“Palimpsest. She doesn’t know the word just yet, but fifty years from now, in a Paris salon, she will hear it for the first time, the idea of the past blotted out, written over by the present, and think of this moment in Le Mans. A”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue