Chelsea G. Summers

« Il est étonnamment facile de ravaler ses scrupules si vous vous abandonnez à votre appétit. » Dorothy Daniels est critique gastronomique à Manhattan. Sensible, méticuleuse, intelligente, elle maîtrise les arts culinaires, mieux encore que certains grands chefs qui font l’objet de ses articles. Sa passion pour la nourriture n’a d’égale que celle pour le sexe : célibataire insatiable, elle se rend souvent en Italie pour savourer ses deux péchés mignons. Au grand dam de ses amants... Il y a quelque chose de différent chez Dorothy, et le moment est venu pour elle d’assumer ce qui la rend si unique et si épouvantablement elle. De son enfance en apparence idyllique à la campagne au jour où elle plante un pic à glace dans le cou d’un homme, Dorothy Daniels nous montre ce qu’il se passe lorsqu’une femme reconnaît enfin sa supériorité. Traduit de l’anglais (États-Unis) par Jessica Shapiro

La Vorace

Sophia 

 Feminism comes to all things, it seems, but it comes to recognizing homicidal rage the slowest.

Isabelle

One learns so much about a person when one merely wants to fuck him. 

Jaydee (she/her)

tianna

The main thing that youth has going for it is porpoise-tight skin. Raw, wide-eyed newness is meaningless. Nostalgia for knowing nothing is asinine; you can't recapture it and you don't want to relive it. Better to sing a song of experience with your burning tiger's heart.

Helen 

peyton mckenzie

To eat human is to dine on a chimerical hybrid, a marvelous, mythical meat that has the sensuality of lamb combined with the poignancy of wild game and the naif quality of pork. To eat people is to get the taste of a Titan. It's infinite immortalization. It makes a god out of a woman. 

In prison terms, I eat well. On my terms, iť's wretched. Everything iS relative, and, here in prison, nothing is beautiful, except memory.

All humans are bad. Most of us merely live Our lives with our worst, most unethical acts lying like bodies clad in concrete, undiscovered, quiet, and dark. What is heaven but the hope for righteous acknowledgment, and what is hell but the fear of discovery. 

We talk about love like it's an involuntary act. We fall into love, like a hole, a puddle, an elevator shaft. We never step mindfully into love. Love, we seem to think, requires a loss of control; love necessitates that vertiginous giving over to gravity; love wants you to have no choice. Your heart thumps because there's danger and adrenaline in love. You lose yourself in love because you've displaced yourself. But dating sites and yentas, arranged marriages and speed dating, advice columns and blind dates, all argue that love is something we can manage, a losing that we can find. I suppose that if you walk into a minefield, you're more like- ly to explode; if you walk a country lane in the dark, you're more likely to trip; and if you put yourself in the path of dating, you're more likely to fall in love. I maintain that love can't simultaneously be an accident and a premeditated act, yet we treat it as if it is. Iť's a necessary fiction, love's Oxymoronic nature. Love's a contranym as sharp as "cleave" and twice as dangerouS.

La Vorace quotes

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