“The summer stretched out the daylight as if on a rack. Each moment was drawn out until its anatomy collapsed. Time broke down. The day progressed in an endless sequence of dead moments.” ― China Miéville, Perdido Street Station (Macmillian; 1ST edition, January 1, 2001)
I have desired, like every artist, to create a little world out of the beautiful, pleasant, and significant things out of this marred and clumsy world… — W.B. Yeats, The Celtic Twilight: Faerie and Folklore (Wildside Press, 2005)
Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.― George Orwell, 1984 (Plume, January 1, 2014) Originally published June 8th 1949.
The sky was brass and the sun was a mushy apple. The wind was a panting dog with bad breath. — Roger Zelazny, The Guns of Avalon (Doubleday; 1st edition, January 1, 1972)
Every moment you steal from the present is a moment you have lost forever. There’s only now. — Jeanette Winterson, The Passion (Grove Press, August 7, 1997)
When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn’t make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. “It’s all right” we whisper, “I’m here, I love you.” and we lie: “I’ll never leave you.” For… Continue reading Neil Gaiman
Insight, n.: How telling that there isn’t anything called “outsight,” as if language itself knows the direction that wisdom must come from. — David Levithan
We all have forests on our minds. Forests unexplored, unending. Each one of us gets lost in the forest, every night, alone. — Ursula K. Le Guin
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’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)