Sophia

“They are not dead. They live, just as I do now. Just as I will tomorrow, and for the eternity to follow. The flame burns closer and closer to my fingers. On any other night, I would drop it, save my flesh. After all, I am la couturière. My hands are my trade, my life. But tonight my life has ended. My hands are useless to my salvation. I delight in the initial, sharp pain. It is exquisite, indulgent. A triumph of my consciousness over instinct. When the last word is consumed, the final corner of paper burned away, the ashes fall to the table. My flesh, however, remains. Intact, with only the promise of a blister. All pain erased.”
― Allison Pittman, The Seamstress

“Do you understand now?" he asked. "With endless time, nothing is special. With no loss or sacrifice, we can't appreciate what we have.”
― Mitch Albom, The Time Keeper

“Friendship, he began to see, was something of a miracle. Built in the smallest of stitches, like Valentina’s lace. Each stitch a word, a look, the offering of a hand to help on unsteady ground. Small and almost imperceptible, these stitches, but all together … they wove a garment that wrapped a heart.”
― Amanda Dykes, All the Lost Places

“My heart and my soul belong to God alone. Never to France.”
― Allison Pittman, The Seamstress