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I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.
— Zelda Fitzgerald
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Sydney sighed and stood up, smoothing her rumpled clothes with dismay. ʺI need a coffee shop or something.ʺ ʺI think I saw one in a cave down the road,ʺ I said. That almost got a smile from her
— Richelle Mead
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