December 2011
“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic — the inexplicable connectedness we...”
– Charles de Lint
“Now I know that our world is no more permanent than a wave rising on the ocean....”
– Arthur Golden
“Don’t be ashamed to weep; ‘tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and...”
– Brian Jacques
“Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its...”
– Haruki Murakami
2 tags
“I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
in the world between...”
– Dylan Thomas, Notes On The Art Of Poetry
1 tag
My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows. I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
—Dylan Thomas, Clown in the Moon
“Beginnings are sudden, but also insidious. They creep up on you sideways, they...”
– Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
“I like the dark part of the night, after midnight and before four-thirty, when...”
– Dave Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
1 tag
But she was ignorant and quite young to understand why the little stories satisfied her immense curiosity; why poetry made her eyes gleam like city lights and the full moon. After all this, (and a book called The Little Mermaid), she vowed to write her own. It started with a letter. I. and then a single word. Am. A fragment. Tired all the time. A whole sentence. I am tired all the time, and...
“You’re convinced you’re a tree,
told everyone you can’t stop
the leaves from...”
– Jenny Sadre-Orafai, Lover as Lumberjack
“I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found…”
– John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America
My skin is kind of sort of brownish Pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, But I’m told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, But it’s silver when it’s wet. And all the colors I am inside Have not been invented yet.
— Sheldon Allan Silverstein, Colors
“How like a mirror too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know...”
– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
1 tag
to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy as water more fit for gills than lungs; when grief weights you like your own flesh only more of it, an obesity of grief, you think, How can a body...
“Walking by night with their arms lifted up from their bodies. As if they were...”
– Ilya Kaminsky, from “Deaf Republic: 6” (via weissewiese)
“You never come back, not all the way. Always there is an odd distance between...”
– Marya Hornbacher
“Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood...”
– Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers
deadandforgotten-deactivated201 asked: Dearest dryad, will a letter be a hand written letter without writing it by hand? I wish by sprinkling pixie dusts my words could fly through my window to yours for you to know how delighted I am of you, always. I wish you have a wonderful Christmas. All my love. :x
3:45 am. Merry Christmas, loves.
“I was laying in bed one night and I thought ‘I’ll just quit — to hell with it.’...”
– Dedicated to Henry Charles Bukowski: Don’t give up
“She began to whisper something in my ear. It’s the strangest thing about...”
– Neil Gaiman
