Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun behind cloud cover. Like smoke from an unseen fire, a line… Continue reading Margaret Atwood
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. ― George Orwell, 1984 ( Plume, January 1, 2014) Originally published June 8th 1949.
I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you. — Alexandra Bracken, Never Fade ( Hyperion Book CH; First Edition, November 5, 2013)
The blue was gathered in her hand, and she could feel it quiver, as if it had been given breath and was beginning to live. — Lois Lowry, Gathering Blue. (Ember; Reissue edition January 24, 2006)
Don’t you wonder sometimes, what might have happened if you tried? — Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go. (Vintage March 14, 2006)
… If the dead can come back to this earth and move unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or… Continue reading Paul Hoffman
Sixsmith. I climb the steps of the Scot monument every morning and all becomes clear. Wish I could make you see this brightness. Don’t worry, all is well. All is so perfectly, damnably well. I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may… Continue reading Ben Whishaw
My dearest Sixsmith, I shot myself through the roof of my mouth this morning with Vivian Ayrs’ Luger. A true suicide is a paced, disciplined certainty. People pontificate suicide is a coward’s act. Couldn’t be further from the truth. Suicide takes tremendous courage. Don’t let them say I killed myself for love. Had my infatuations,… Continue reading Ben Whishaw
I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each… Continue reading Franz Kafka
I sometimes wonder what I’d see if I could hold your heart in my hands, […] I imagine it fitting perfectly in my palms, soft and slippery, like gelatin that hasn’t quite set. It might wobble at the slightest touch, but I sense I’d need to hold it carefully, so it wouldn’t slip through my… Continue reading Yōko Ogawa
The Vale of Soul-Making 