βyouβre a mess of good intentions gone wrong. you strike a match on yourself to keep others warm, and now the whole goddamn worldβs on fire. you try to put it out, and you try so hard. the dam breaks, and the waters of your sorrow pour free. you are sorry; so very, very sorryβ and you will drown everyone to prove it.β
β the hero who couldnβt save anyone | m.a.w
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"A phenomenon often seen. A sceptic adhering to a believer; that is as simple as the law of the complementary colours. What we lack attracts us. Nobody loves the light like the blind man."
- Victor Hugo.
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Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.
-Sylvia Plath
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And in the end we were all just humans.. drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.
- F.Scott Fitzgerald
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When Vincent Van Gogh said, "And then I have nature and art and poetry, and if that's not enough, what is enough?" and when Bansky said, "Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable." and when Friedrich Nietzsche said, "We have art in order not to die of the truth."
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When Madeline Miller said "Envious death would drink his blood, and grow young again"
And when Shakespeare said "And make death proud to take us"
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An emptiness so vast I canβt tell
if I am in it or it in me.
β Richard Jackson
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Detached from everything, including detachment.
β Maurice Blanchot
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We didn't know what was ahead of us then. We were just two teenagers, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. So no, he didn't give me flowers or candy. He gave me the moon and the stars. Infinity.
- Jenny Han (We'll Always Have Summer, Summer #3)
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I am not sure that I exist, actually. I am all the writers that I have read, all the people that I have met, all the women that I have loved; all the cities that I have visited.
- Jorge Luis Borges
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I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.
- Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
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