“A wild, wick slip she was”

“Daphne felt something wild and wicked take hold. “Let’s walk in the garden,” she said softly.“We can’t.”“We must.”“We can’t.”

“such wanton, wild, and usual slips/ As are companions noted and most known/ To youth and liberty.”

“But there was still something missing. Something that nagged at her-an emptiness she couldn't explain. There were mornings she woke with her heart pounding wildly and the sensation of arms wrapped around her. But the feeling slipped away the moment she opened her eyes, and no matter how quickly she squeezed them shut, she couldn't recapture the contentment she'd felt.”

“She did not know yet how sometimes people keep parts of themselves hidden and secret, sometimes wicked and unkind parts, but often brave or wild or colorful parts, cunning or powerful or even marvelous, beautiful parts, just locked up away at the bottom of their hearts. They do this because they are afraid of the world and of being stared at, or relied upon to do feats of bravery or boldness. And all of those brave and wild and cunning and marvelous and beautiful parts they hid away and left in the dark to grow strange mushrooms—and yes, sometimes those wicked and unkind parts, too—end up in their shadow.”

“She is not for you. She is a wild one--wild, without shame. This is not a bride for a rabbi".”