You get a little moody sometimes but I think that’s because you like to read. People that like to read are always a little fucked up. ― Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides (Dial Press Trade Paperback; Reprint edition, October 1, 2002) Originally published January 1, 1986.
There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There’s .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us… Continue reading John Green
Elektra : I ask this one thing: / let me go mad in my own way. — Sophokles, Electra (Greek Tragedy in New Translations) Trans. Anne Carson (Oxford University Press, April 19, 2001)
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits andAre melted into air, into thin air:And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself,Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolveAnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack behind. We… Continue reading William Shakespeare
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)
With fairest flowersWhilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lackThe flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose, norThe azured harebell, like thy veins, no, norThe leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,Out-sweeten’d not thy breath: the ruddock would,With charitable bill,–O bill, sore-shamingThose rich-left heirs that let their… Continue reading William Shakespeare
Death followed by eternity the worst of both worlds. It is a terrible thought. ― Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. (Grove Press; Reprint edition January 21, 1994) Oribinally published 1966.
Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires. — William Shakespeare, Macbeth: Act I, Scene vi (1606)
…But remember that you have to move on, somehow. You just pick your head up and stare at something beautiful like the sky or the ocean, and you move the hell on. — James Patterson, Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas. (Vision; 1st US MM Ppbk Print, Aug. 2003 edition August 1, 2003)
How could you go about choosing something that would hold the half of your heart you had to bury? ― Jodi Picoult, Mercy. (Washington Square Press April 1, 2001) Originally published 1996.
The Vale of Soul-Making 