November 2010
“I want my life to be mystifying,” she declared, although she didn’t know what she meant.”
The Ghost’s Child, Sonya Hartnett
“I coddle my heart like a sick child and give in to its every whim.”
The Sorrows Of Young Werther, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“I’m sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect.”
Franny and Zooey, J.D. Salinger
“They faded before their own eyes, till they were nothing more than living ghosts, haunting each other with what could be. With what can’t be. There, now. Isn’t that the scariest story you’ve ever heard?”
A Great And Terrible Beauty, Libba Bray
“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.”
The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
“They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them, each time, without hurting them.”
The Phantom Of The Opera, Gaston Leroux
“The pearls weren’t really white, they were a warm oyster beige, with little knots in between so if they broke, you only lost one. I wished my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn’t come apart.”
White Oleander, Janet Fitch
“I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.”
Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert
quix·ot·ic [kwik-sot-ik] –adjective
1. ( sometimes initial capital letter ) resembling or befitting Don Quixote. 2. extravagantly chivalrous or romantic; visionary, impractical, or impracticable. 3. impulsive and often rashly unpredictable
His daughter is twenty years of snow falling She’s twenty years of strangers looking into each other’s eyes She’s twenty years of clean She never truly hated anyone or anything She’s a dying breed She’s a dying breed She says I’d prefer the moss I’d prefer the mouth A baby of the swamps A baby of the south I’m twenty years of clean And I never...
