Savannah Brown Quotes

my body is a temple, and I am the god it was built for

i have given you the power to turn me inside out, my dear—please do not use it

I heard the universe laugh. One tragedy doesn't disqualify you, it said. There''s still a lifetime of mild irritation to look forward to.

because we'll someday ache for any regular sunday in june where the sun was a sure thing and breath tasted like warm grass and there was not a single indication the cosmos would one day shut like your eyes, tight with pleasure.

Just because you love something doesn't mean it can't go on without you.

I'd shut myself out for so long that I had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be included, to be seen, to be heard.

i could go if i wanted share the floorboards with someone in a place less haunted but i like it here and i’m happy to stay in this mess on my own in this home i have built for myself in my bones

Eventually, 'Dad is dead' turned into 'I will die', which was my introduction to the fear. The fear of gone. The fear of nothing at all, of what happens to me, of I am the main character and the story will crumble if I'm not there to see it through.

You know that feeling where, like, the world is spinning at a thousand miles an hour and there’s nothing you can do to stop it and then you start to feel like there’s nothing you can do about anything ever?

i want to be your girl, in the same way you hold the glistening body of mars in a telescope's lidless eye and say she belongs to you; swivel the lens and she's gone in the dark, thirty million miles away and blushing.

i wished i couldn’t care less craved to couldn’t care less case me up, beetle skin i wondered what the world felt like when it only brushed up against you and didn’t make its home inside your belly sweet sweet disconnect

I wasn’t convinced anyone felt the exact same way I did. That’s the rub about being human, I guess. You have all these tools to express yourself, art and music and poetry and stuff, but no one will ever truly know how you feel unless you somehow manage to create a projection of your brain and play it on to the wall. Even then it might not be as vivid. Even then it might not be as close.

you’ll find the buildings taller, that the halls are full of ghosts but everything still here is what you remember most

Seeing the body was supposed to be cathartic, but the man in the lipstick wasn’t my dad.

chaos wants for no one but i was released, and for a time, survived.

i can measure how sad i am by how afraid i am of the dark (rather, i mean, what’s in the dark) counting heart stops and stomach flops and every stair creak, when everyone’s asleep (except me and my head and my shaky hands)

Fuck domino effects. Fuck everything happens for a reason. Fuck it, fuck it, absolutely fuck all of it to hell.

OK,’ I said, like a complete idiot who fantasizes day in and day out about affection like this but shuts down when actually receiving that affection and says fucking OK.

because we'll someday ache for any regular sunday in june

And ahead of me, June moved like her body had a whole world in it.

after the yellow hours offer their timid ought-to's we invent a new twisted collection of sounds that fold themselves into the wooden nooks, different words for the same shriek: we were here, so far from death.

i don't mean to project, but i'm pretty sure we're the only two people on this wretched planet who aren't on fire so why catch? it's so dangerous out there-- why go? we have everything you could ever need in here.

I got an overwhelming sense that I wasn’t really here.

Everyone wants somebody to understand their personality and their childhood and what each of those things has done to the other one

It’s just, like, when it was good, it was good. There’d be, God, like months at a time where things would be fine. Perfect. He’d be loving and gentle but then it’d all go to shit again and I had to deal with it. And the best way I can explain it is … that you forget what normal is.

What romanticizing mental illness is it can happen in a lot of ways. The main culprits that I will be talking about is Tumblr and its really unhealthy tendency to perpetuate certain ideas about mental health and normalize things that maybe shouldn't be normalized.

The Grief was always there; if not centre stage, then lurking in the wings, or hanging from the rafters, or pulsing beneath the floorboards. But it didn't always need my attention. I could ignore it - for a little while, at least. I was always grieving, but sometimes I was grieving with an AND.

I wonder if that is something that comes with age - a desire for self-betterment, to change the parts of myself that are largely undesirable. For now, I'm enjoying them. Not enjoying, maybe. I understand them. They get me what I want. A stem without thorns is lesser. A stem without thorns gets eaten.

That was the rub of being human. You had all these tools to express yourself, art and music and poetry and stuff, but no one would ever truly know how you felt unless you somehow managed to create a projection of your brain and played it on a wall. Even then, it might not be as vivid. Even then, it might not be as close.

I have so much practice now breathing, which from a distance looks like I'm finally deciding to ask for what I need, but at the last moment changing my mind.

All I want is to be told that something that hasn't happened yet was always going to happen and there was nothing I could do.

It’s Savannah, the land of dishing-the-dirt and all things fried.

Narrator: "The year is 1986, and if my demographics are anything to go by, you're not there.

Any time I found myself wavering- thinking about death or dying or ends or Dad or the ToD -I'd force myself to think about June instead... Think about June. Flip my mind overtop of itself, push everything else out until she's all that's left. June laughing at a joke I'd made, or June speaking, or June existing. This didn't serve, exactly, to balance me on the tightrope; it disintegrated the tightrope. It made it so the tightrope had never existed at all. There was no gravity. I could float there, comfortable, and never worry about the fall ever again. What's the point of living it- June. We're all going to die and the universe is indifferent and- June. Her hands on me and her face close to mine but what does it matter if she, if Dad- June. June sitting in the driver's seat. Dad decomposing in the driver's seat- June. Heaven is June in the driver's seat. Hell is June in the driver's seat. There is only June in the driver's seat. And at night, my consciousness would slip away, repeating that smooth, delicious mantra in my head. There is only June in the driver's seat.

pinned here, find recurring dreams, conspiracy theories, their answer when i asked them to take me to the worst day of their life and describe the color of the sky: sapphire paint and human hair and the rosetta stone. can i worship what's mine? this is the problem. i move onto folding moments into catacombs, as if there are any noble or artistic ways to display the curse of yearning.

Meanwhile, blacks observed how German prisoners housed at Camp Gordon were getting paid to work the grounds of the Augusta National Golf Club, and to pick peanuts, corn, and potatoes across the Savannah River. “They sing and whistle, seem to enjoy work,” enthused the Augusta Chronicle. “Farmers are delighted.” Such news stories left a bitter taste in the mouths of black Augustans, who felt the government was doing more for the enemy than it was willing to do for them.

I mean, how many dead little old ladies were on the loose in Savannah tonight? With my luck, it was probably best not to think too hard on that particular question.

(‘Well, yes, the service was lovely, but that girl’s lower half was a bit off-centre, don’t you think?’)

Oh, for sure. I took one look at you and thought, ‘Shit, that girl looks like she has a significant ecological footprint.

Communication’s central goal must be to facilitate a productive exchange of ideas, not to hear the sound of one’s own voice.

(I used to think the sexiest thing a woman could do was answer to any name Now I know it's the silence The never answering What girlish secrets could she be hiding in the absence of sound)

Turns out there's nothing easier than lying.

Carlita’s Homemade Minestrone Soup Recipe Ingredients: 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 lb. Italian sausage, sliced thin (we used turkey sausage) 1 cup diced yellow onion 3 cloves garlic, minced 2 cups finely shredded carrots 1 tsp. Italian seasoning 2 small zucchini, cubed 16-oz can diced tomatoes, undrained 16-oz can cut green beans (optional) 2 – 16 oz. containers of beef OR chicken stock 3 cups finely chopped cabbage 1/2 tablespoon salt 1/2 tsp. pepper 16-oz can Great Northern Beans, undrained Directions: Brown sausage, onion and garlic in oil. Stir in carrots and Italian spice blend. Cook for 5 minutes. Add zucchini, tomatoes, beef stock, cabbage, salt and pepper.  Bring soup to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer covered for 30 minutes. Add Great Northern beans and green beans, and cook another 20 minutes. Sprinkle parsley and Parmesan cheese over soup in serving bowls.

After one is hollowed out by suffering, one might expect something to rush in to fill the new, unoccupied parts of yourself - but that's not how it's been for me. Nothing rushed in. Instead, I sometimes look in the mirror and see not a different person, but no one at all. Not a canvas, a canvas has potentiality, a promise, an ability. Just nothing.

After one is hollowed out by suffering, one might expect something to rush in to fill the new, unoccupied parts of yourself - but that's not how it's been for me. Nothing rushed in. Instead, I sometimes look in the mirror and see not a different person, but no one at all. Not a canvas, a canvas has potentiality, a promise, an ability. Just nothing. I'm no one.

Mrs. O’Brien’s Shepherd’s Pie Recipe Ingredients: 5 cups mashed, boiled potatoes (could be reduced to 4 cups)* 1/2 cup sour cream 2 ounces cream cheese 2 tablespoons butter, softened, divided 1 egg yolk 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1-1/2 teaspoon olive oil 1 pound ground lamb (We substituted ground chicken. You could also use ground beef or turkey.) 1 pinch salt and ground black pepper to taste 1 (16 ounce) can stewed tomatoes with juice, chopped 1 small yellow onion, chopped 1 small carrot, peeled and chopped 1/2 cup peas (frozen or fresh) 1 cup Irish stout beer (such as Guinness(R)) 1 cube beef bouillon (we used chicken bouillon) 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese 2 teaspoons smoked paprika (optional) * 1 tsp. liquid smoke (optional) * Directions: -Stir cooked potatoes, sour cream, cream cheese, 1 tablespoon butter, egg yolk, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon black pepper together in a bowl until smooth. -Heat olive oil in a cast iron skillet or nonstick pan over medium-high heat. Add ground lamb (or meat). Reduce heat to medium, and cook, stirring frequently, until browned, 4 to 5 minutes. Pour off excess grease and season meat with salt and black pepper to taste. -Add stewed tomatoes with juice, onion, and carrot into meat mixture; Stir and simmer until vegetables are tender, 5 to 10 minutes. Add peas; reduce heat to low and continue cooking, stirring frequently, 2 to 3 minutes. -Add one teaspoon of liquid smoke to meat mixture. Mix thoroughly. -Heat beer in a saucepan over medium heat; add (beef) bouillon cube. Cook and stir beer mixture until bouillon dissolves, about 5 minutes. - Melt 1 tablespoon butter in a separate pan over medium-low heat. Whisk flour into butter until it thickens, about 1 minute. -Stir beer mixture and Worcestershire sauce into flour mixture until gravy is smooth and thickened, 2 to 3 minutes. Stir gravy into meat mixture and simmer until mixture thickens, at least 5 minutes. -Set top oven rack roughly 6 inches from the oven broiler and preheat the broiler. Grease a 9x12-inch baking dish. - Pour (meat) mixture into the prepared baking dish. -Spoon mashed potatoes over (meat) mixture, covering like a crust. Sprinkle cheddar cheese and paprika evenly over mashed potatoes. -Broil in the preheated oven until the crust browns and the cheese is melted, 4 to 5 minutes. -Cool for about 5 minutes before serving. NOTES: We thought the smoked paprika added little flavor to the original recipe.  We added liquid smoke to the meat and it gave it a nice smoky flavor. Next time, we’ll reduce the amount of mashed potatoes to four cups.  We thought the layer of potatoes was a little too thick. (But if you love mashed potatoes, five cups would work ☺  )

Tuscan Chicken Macaroni and Cheese Recipe Ingredients: 2 large skinless boneless chicken breasts pounded to 1-inch thickness (or 4 boneless and skinless chicken thigh fillets) Salt and pepper, to season 1/2 teaspoon paprika 3 teaspoons olive or canola oil, divided per directions 2 tablespoons butter 1 small yellow onion chopped 6 cloves garlic, finely diced 1/3 cup chicken broth 4 oz (250g) sun dried tomato strips in oil (reserve 1 tablespoon of oil) 4 level tablespoons flour 2 cups chicken broth 3 cups milk OR light cream 2 teaspoons dried Italian herbs 10 ounces (3 cups) elbow macaroni uncooked (3 cups) 3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese 1 cup mozzarella cheese shredded (or use six cheese Italian) 2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped Directions: -Season chicken with salt, pepper, paprika and 2 teaspoons of the oil. Heat the remaining oil in a large pot or pan over medium-high heat. Add the chicken and sear on both sides until golden brown, cooked through and no longer pink in the middle. Transfer chicken to a warm plate, tent with foil and set aside. -Using the same pan, add the butter and fry the onion and garlic until the onion becomes transparent, stirring occasionally (about 2 minutes). Pour in the 1/3 cup chicken broth and allow to simmer for 5 minutes, or until beginning to reduce down.  -Add the sun dried tomatoes, along with 1 tablespoons of the sun dried tomato oil from the jar. Cook for 2-3 minutes.  -Stir the flour into the pot. Blend well. -Add the broth, 2-1/2 cups of milk (cream or half and half), herbs, salt and pepper, and bring to a low simmer.  -Add the uncooked macaroni and stir occasionally as it comes to a simmer. Reduce to medium low heat and stir regularly while it cooks (roughly 10 minutes), or until the sauce thickens and the macaroni is just cooked (al dente: tender but still firm).  -Remove pot from stove and immediately stir in all of the cheeses. Add salt and pepper to taste. If the sauce it too thick, add the remaining 1/2 cup milk (or cream) in 1/4 cup increments, until reaching desired thickness. -Slice the chicken into strips and stir through the pasta (pour in any juices left from the chicken). -Sprinkle with basil, stir thoroughly and serve.

Recipe: The Ghost Roast Restaurant – Marinara Sauce Ingredients: 2 (14.5 ounce) cans Italian stewed tomatoes 1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste 2 clove garlic, minced 1/8 cup green olives, minced 1 teaspoon dried oregano 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning 1 teaspoon brown sugar 1 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper 3 tablespoons olive oil 1/3 cup finely diced onion   Directions: In a food processor place Italian tomatoes, tomato paste, minced garlic, minced green olives, oregano, Italian seasoning, brown sugar, salt, and pepper. Blend until smooth. In a large skillet over medium heat, sauté the finely chopped onion in olive oil for 2 minutes. Add the blended tomato sauce. Simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Can be served as marinara sauce or as pasta sauce.

Alex gawked at the baked goods. He sat down on one of the metal barstools. "Feeling stressed out, I see." "Yeah." I passed the platter toward him. "Help yourself to the peach rolls or turnovers. I made them last night, so they're fresh." "We okay?" I nodded. He didn't hesitate. "God, Marygene," he groaned around a mouthful, an expression of awe on his face. "There is nothing like your baked goods. I mean it. I've eaten pastries in all the best shops in Savannah, and nothing compares to yours." Well, that was a real nice compliment. There were ample high-end pastry shops in Savannah.

A little orb made of our liquefied fates A stargate lodged in the rib My baby my baby I will know you well enough to find you again in the place where none of this is

you were so elsewhere I don't even think you realized what was happening how could you ruin us your jaw lengthened # your features drifted outwards I wretched something black

Savannah and Emilie had mentioned he wasn’t here for a match, but they’d also told me brown cows made chocolate milk when we were in preschool.

i think we're just moths riding on the backs of giants and i wasn't drawn to you because our wings are both blue but because they're the same colour as everyone else’s and you were willing to listen to why that scared me

There was something picturesque about the scene, the fiery maples and the headstones planted in meticulous rows and the girl in the middle of all of it, sitting cross-legged at the grave that wasn't hers to mind.

brown recluse.

I became obsessed with her hands. How they were kind of perpetually moving, twitching, the knuckles on her skinny fingers popping every time she remembered to crack them, which was often. I liked to watch them when she spoke, when she curled them around the occasional vanilla latte, when she ran them through her hair. I loved June's hands. I loved June's collarbone. I loved June's hair. I loved her laugh and her nose and her purple varsity jacket. I loved June's everything. I was beginning to think I loved without there needing to be a common noun to follow.