Elizabeth Bukhshteyn

As much as anything, faith is the constant fight within you. Not a resistance or a struggle, a perseverance that accepts the insanity of the task ahead. A sometimes broken soul that wakes up each morning, and just takes the first step.

I could hold on to every single heartache and failure and disappointment, the endless moments where I so desperately wished it would have worked when it couldn’t have been less well-timed.

I feel stupidly helpless and powerless against this.

Having the perfect set of tits wouldn’t make them anymore beautiful when they were the source of mutations. I don’t even like them that much, I think. A lifetime of dealing with a part of my body that I’m not even crash hot about.

Like communication, storytelling is about flow.

The content of an approach is never as important as its intention.

The victories are mixed and sometimes hardly discernable from losses, and no matter how far you think you’ve made it at any point in time…you’re only ever one fuck up away from realizing how far you have to go.

My very first date in New York was a stupidly picturesque experience. It was the pleasant end of summer easing into autumn, and I ceremoniously put on a white summer dress I knew the season would soon not permit.

I began to wonder if my Judaism had contingencies I was not previously aware of. The term for Jews who choose to move to Israel and acquire citizenship is “making aliyah,” aliyah meaning “ascension.”

A writer is, in effect, taking part in an imaginative degustation.

I have struggled with being Jewish for a very, very long time.