I look at him and there are stars burning inside the fissures of his sunlit brown iris.
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Sometimes I want to bottle up his voice
and drink it to numb the chilling pain-
when the demons in my wretched head start chewing on my flesh.
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You said you would kill those monsters who haunts my memory , what if they are fragments of my soul? Will you kill me then or will you give them shelter under the warm shade of your affection? What if I am made of countless broken promises and a vengeful heart? What if there is blood in my tears , blood that yearns for revenge? Will you wield the sword for me while I hide behind the shield of thorns?
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"I don't like to doze by the fire. I like adventures, and I am going to find some."
-Jo March
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My love for you remains as infinite as the stars.
- Mark Anthony
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"And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality,I'd find you and I'd choose you."
- THE CHAOS OF STARS , KIERSTEN WHITE
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'I shall write it in my diary to-night.'
'What?'
'That a burnt child loves the fire.'
- The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
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I will not be "famous," "great." I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.
- Virginia Woolf, A Writer's Diary
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How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.
- Virginia Woolf,The Waves
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"Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."
- Homer, The Iliad
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I am a cage, in search of a bird.
- Franz Kafka
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What does the brain matter compared with the heart?
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
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When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation.
[As attributed by Alastair Reid in Neruda and Borges, The New Yorker, June 24, 1996; as well as in The Talk of the Town, The New Yorker, July 7, 1986]
- Jorge Luis Borges
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I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.
- Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, #1)
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That's the power of literature, you know, it can act like little love letters between two people who can only explain their feelings by pointing at other people's.
- Fredrik Backman, Anxious People
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"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music"
-Friedrich Nitzsche
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Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.
- Charles Bukowski
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