Anyone can grow into something beautiful.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

For eight years I dreamed of fire. Trees ignited as I passed them; oceans burned. The sugary smoke settled in my hair as I slept, the scent like a cloud left on my pillow as I rose. Even so, the moment my mattress started to burn, I bolted awake. The sharp, chemical smell was nothing like the hazy syrup of my dreams; the two were as different as Carolina and Indian jasmine, separation and attachment. They could not be confused. Standing in the middle of the room, I located the source of the fire. A neat row of wooden matches lined the foot of the bed. They ignited, one after the next, a glowing picket fence across the piped edging. Watching them light, I felt a terror unequal to the size of the flickering flames, and for a paralyzing moment I was ten years old again, desperate and hopeful in a way I had never been before and never would be again. But the bare synthetic mattress did not ignite like the thistle had in late October. It smoldered, and then the fire went out. It was my eighteenth birthday.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

Her eyes were open, taking in my tired face... Her face twitched into what looked like a squinty smile, and in her wordless expression I saw gratitude, and relief, and trust. I wanted, desperately, not to disappoint her.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

Hyacinth. Please forgive me.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

I believe you can prove everyone wrong, too, Victoria. Your behavior is a choice; it isn't who you are.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

I’m talking about the language of flowers. It’s from the Victorian era, like your name. If a man gave a young lady a bouquet of flowers, she would race home and try to decode it like a secret message. Red roses mean love; yellow roses' infidelity. So a man would have to choose his flowers carefully.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

I've always loved the language of flowers. I discovered Kate Greenaway's 'Language of Flowers' in a used bookstore when I was 16 and couldn't believe it was such a well-kept secret. How could something so beautiful and romantic be virtually unknown?

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

I would keep her, and raise her, and love her, even if she had to teach me how to do it.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

Nothing you could do would make me send you away. Nothing.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh

Now, as an adult, my hopes for the future were simple: I wanted to be alone, and to be surrounded by flowers. It seemed, finally, that I might get exactly what I wanted.

— Vanessa Diffenbaugh