#light academia literature
We have found out forever
That blood smells only of blood.
How slow life seems to me,
How violent the hope of love can be.
I- so imperfect, so weak,
So unbelievably lonely.
I had a very childlike rage
And a very childlike loneliness.
I don’t belong here
But my beloved, neither do you.
You have known that I love you for so long.
Why do you torture me?
Speak of her over my grave
And watch how she brings me to life.
How much must be forgotten, out of love.
How much must be forgiven, even love.
On the edge of madness
“But in the end, stories are about one person saying to another: This is the way it feels to me. Can you understand what I’m saying? Does it feel this way to you?”
Kazuo Ishiguro, in his Nobel Prize (2017) acceptance speech
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.
Madeline Miller, The Song Of Achilles
It is is better to know one book intimately
than a hundred superficially.
Donna Tartt, The Secret History
|books|
May flowers grow in the saddest parts of you.
