Emilie Autumn
“You,” he said, “are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain. ― Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls (The Asylum Emporium; 2nd edition, January 1, 2011)
“You,” he said, “are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain. ― Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls (The Asylum Emporium; 2nd edition, January 1, 2011)
23 Emotions people feel, but can’t explain John Koenig, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (Simon & Schuster, November 16, 2021)
Everyone wants to give a writer the perfect notebook. Over the years I’ve acquired stacks: One is leather, a rope of Rapunzel’s hair braids its spine. Another, tree-friendly, its pages reincarnated from diaries of poets who now sit in cubicles. One is small and black like a funeral dress, its pages lined like the hands… Continue reading Megan Falley
It was a kiss made in lonely dreams. A kiss that took its time. A kiss that felt so right she couldn’t remember all the reasons it was wrong. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips, This Heart of Mine (Avon, February 5, 2002)
Maybe you think you’ll be entitled to more happiness later by forgoing all of it now, but it doesn’t work that way. Happiness takes as much practice as unhappiness does. It’s by living that you live more. By waiting you wait more. Every waiting day makes your life a little less. Every lonely day makes… Continue reading Ann Brashares
Here is the riddle of love: Everything it gives to you, it takes away. ― Alice Hoffman, The Dovekeepers ( Scribner; 0 edition, October 4, 2011)
I’m saying that I’m a moody, insecure, narrow-minded, jealous, borderline homicidal bitch, and I want you to promise me that you’re okay with that, because it’s who I am, and you’re what I need. ― Jeaniene Frost, Halfway to the Grave (Avon; 1st Printing edition, October 30, 2007)
It is one of those summer days that feel like a memory welling up in your throat. — Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper. (Washington Square Press; Reprint edition February 1, 2005)
For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel. ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 2: The Doll’s House. (Vertigo; Gph edition. March 10, 1999) Originally published June 1st 1990.
I feel my heart ache, but I’ve forgotten what that feeling means. — Chuck Palahniuk, Choke. (Anchor June 11, 2002)