You smoked another cigarette and we shared another coffee and it was just another morning that made me realise that this is all it takes to be happy.
The truth is I do love you. Admitting that means opening myself up to all that pain when you leave. After you realize this wasn’t love, but gratitude.
When you go against the flow of nature and betray the spiritual laws existing within, there is, and always will be, a negative reaction. Those who try escaping life before fate shakes their hand, will forever be stuck on earth, chained to the place they so badly wanted to leave. What a complicated misery. I guarantee you it will be torture to be invisible and ignored by those you love when you can see them - but you are already dead for them to hear you utter another word. Talk about agony, more so, than remaining on this plane and continuing your spiritual cycle as it was written to be lived.
Before she knew it, she was just another set of eyes in a dusty attic, waiting for the stairs to creak.
IF SOMEONE KEEPS DOING WHAT THEY'RE DOINGTHEY WILL GET BETTER AT IT, BUT.... THEY STILL WON'T BE BETTER THEN YOU!KEEP PUSHING!
She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.
‘Paradise Lost’ was printed in an edition of no more than 1,500 copies and transformed the English language. Took a while. Wordsworth had new ideas about nature: Thoreau read Wordsworth, Muir read Thoreau, Teddy Roosevelt read Muir, and we got a lot of national parks. Took a century. What poetry gives us is an archive, the fullest existent archive of what human beings have thought and felt by the kind of artists who loved language in a way that allowed them to labor over how you make a music of words to render experience exactly and fully.
The books [poetry collections] may not sell, but neither are they given away or thrown away. They tend, more than other books, to fall apart in their owners’ hands. Not I suppose good news in a culture and economy built on obsolescence. But for a book to be loved this way and turned to this way for consolation and intense renewable excitement seems to me a marvel.
The internet is killing the art of writing. The big publish button begs you to publish even before you go back and make one single edit, and as if this was not enough, you have instant readers who praise your writing skills!-
I’ve always loved the night, when everyone else is asleep and the world is all mine. It’s quiet and dark—the perfect time for creativity.
When love dies, the heart's ashes do not leave on the wind—they rest on the mantelpiece of the soul, darkening the sunrise we once saw to be beautiful.
you are a lover of the wordsa soul mate to the storyeverything becomes a part of youfrom my fingertips to your eyesfrom my heart to yours
Tallis is a beautiful and terrible thing. Fearsome and alluring. Just like the forest in many ways... but it's written all over that handsome, pale face of yours; you like her.
Tallis had persevered through and unshakable feeling of not truly belonging... She understood the responsibility her family constraints put upon her, and while Lana knew Tallis's heart trembled and raged at the perceived indignity of it all, she had grown up into a charming, beautiful woman with shoulders that refused to bow to a world that demanded they should.
When life seems like an uphill task do not ever give up on yourself or on life! Travel to a new place, learn a new language, embrace a new culture, play a musical instrument, read a good book, watch the sunrise, experience the sunset, go for a swim in the river, hug a tree, sit near the lake, or climb a mountain! You will fall in love with life all over again!
One may never get to know how fast the time travels till the one gets in that position to race against the time.
Go for it because for all those moments that you would make up your mind the other might have already rushed for it.
Time is the real emperor and there is no space for any pride since time flies and blows away anything.
Till the time you realize your conquest you already reach that stage when you start losing the grip.
You can start anew at any given moment. Life is just the passage of time and it’s up to you to pass it as you please.
I am not afraid of giving bad reviews. If I don't like a book, I don't like it. Period. I don't do promotion
Reality doesn’t always give us the life that we desire, but we can always find what we desire between the pages of books.
When you're in my arms, I know you're mine. But your feet are so swift, so swift, they carry you as lightly as wings, I never know where, too fast, too fast away from me.
All memory is individual, unreproducible - it dies with each person. What is called collective memory is not a remembering but a stipulating: that this is important, and this is the story about how it happened, with the pictures that lock the story in our minds.
Love the great narcotic was the revealer in the alchemist's bottle rendering visible the most untraceable substances. Love the great narcotic was the agent provocateur exposing all the secret selves to daylight.
Is there an antidote to the perennial seductiveness of war? And is this a question a woman is more likely to pose than a man? (Probably yes.)
In this instant of danger they realized they were each other's reason for living, and into this instant they threw their whole being.
So many broken promises, each day an aborted wish, a lost object, a misplaced unread book, cluttering the room like an attic with discarded possessions.
Every word spoken in the past accumulated forms and colors in the self. What flows through the veins besides blood is the distillation of every act committed, the sediment of all the visions, wishes, dreams and experiences. All the past emotions converge to tint the skin and flavor the lips, to regulate the pulse and produce crystals in the eyes.
And it is that which draws me to you, too, for you are the tropics, you have the sun in you, and the softness and the clarity...
The magic beauty of simultaneity, to see the loved one rushing toward you at the same moment you are rushing toward him, the magic power of meeting, exactly at midnight to achieve union, the illusion of one common rhythm achieved by overcoming obstacles, deserting friends, breaking other bonds - all this was soon dissolved by his laziness, by his habit of missing every moment, of never keeping his word, of living perversely in a state of chaos, of swimming more naturally in a sea of failed intentions, broken promises, and aborted wishes