Susan Elizabeth Phillips,
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)
Category: Fiction
Ernest Hemingway
Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with… Continue reading Ernest Hemingway
Ann Brashares
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
Milan Kundera
Living, there is no happiness in that. Living: carrying one’s painful self through the world. But being, being is happiness. Being: Becoming a fountain, a fountain on which the universe falls like warm rain. ― Milan Kundera, Immortality (Gardners Books; 1st edition, July 31, 2000) Originally published January 12th 1990.
Alice Hoffman
Here is the riddle of love: Everything it gives to you, it takes away. ― Alice Hoffman, The Dovekeepers ( Scribner; 0 edition, October 4, 2011)
Graham Greene
A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. — Graham Greene, The End of the Affair (Heinemann, 1951)
Albert Camus
But there is in every man a profound instinct which is neither that of destruction nor that of creation. It is merely a matter of resembling nothing. — Albert Camus, The Minotaur (1939)
William Faulkner
He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack. — William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying (Harrison Smith, 1930)
Jeaniene Frost
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)
D.H. Lawrence
[P]raise silence, & put flesh on every w All real living hurts as well as fulfils. Happiness comes when we have lived and have a respite for sheer forgetting. Happiness, in the vulgar sense, is just a holiday experience. The life-long happiness lies in being used by life; hurt by life, driven and goaded by… Continue reading D.H. Lawrence
The Vale of Soul-Making 