November 6, 2009
November 2, 2009
November 1, 2009
October 27, 2009
October 25, 2009
“ Who has not felt, in the first madness of sorrow, an unreasoning rage against he mute propriety of chairs and tables, the stiff squareness of Turkey carpets, the unbending obstinacy of the outward apparatus of existence? We want to root up gigantic trees in a primeval forest, and to tear their huge branches asunder in our convulsive grasp…
Mary Elizabeth Braddon
October 24, 2009
October 20, 2009
October 19, 2009
(via sabino)
“ I thought you were a jewelled bird of the kind Byzantine emperors kept. Rare, fabulous, told of but unseen. What words for a plumage like yours? The surprise of wings was this love. We did escape gravity. If I flew too close to the sun, forgive me. Water claims her own at last. You were the one who understood the theory of flight. You were the one who taught me the aerodynamics of risk. I should have trusted you. The failure was mine, Alice, not the pain of having spoken and said nothing. Not the pain of words that splinter in the throat. Call every speck of me by right. Letter me. I say your name as a spell and leave my last word here as yours. I want to tell you how much I love you. You.
Jeanette Winterson, Gut Symmetries (via ignify)
- PAGES
- archive
- feed
- Theme by RASTAPANDA
