DISCOVERY: that the addition of “Harry” to almost any Plato quote makes it seem legitimately like a nugget of wisdom out of the mouth of Albus Dumbledore.
"Death is not the worst that can happen to men, Harry."
"Harry, good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others."
"He who commits injustice is ever made more wretched than he who suffers it, Harry."
"Harry, how can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?"
"Harry, astronomy at all events compels the soul to look upwards, and draws it from the things of this world to the other."
"He was a wise man who invented beer, Harry."
Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.
You either like me or you don’t. It took me twenty-something years to learn how to love myself, I don’t have that kinda time to convince somebody else.
If people want to let you go, just let them do it. They may not understand who you are. So don’t play around with fire; don’t give them their cake and let them eat it too. Here is your rule of thumb: they either commit to you or get none of you.
People say I love you all the time – when they say, ‘take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘hurry back,’ or even ‘watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it – you just have to listen for it, my dear.
dandelion wine | a mix for bleak autumn days verging on winter; for sweater weather and putting the kettle on to boil while raindrops dance across the tin roof; for wet maple leaves heaped under the tree and the sound of boots sloshing across the sidewalk newly kissed by autumn showers; for inhaling the crisp and dewy air and catching the first scent of winter nipping at fall’s heels
p.s. i know this is a little bit early so save it for a rainy day
Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.
Write relentlessly, until you find your voice. Then, use it.
why is it always the woman who has to see past the beast in the man? why does she always have to clean his wounds, even after he has damaged her beyond repair? why is it always the man who is worthy of forgiveness for being a monster?
I want to see the beast in the beauty.
the half smile, half snarl. the unapologetic anger. I would like to see the man forgive the monster. to see her, blood and all, and love her anyway.
"That Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me."