#ale

Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all. ↗

— Alexander Pope

#entropy #anarchism

While there may not be a book in every one of us, there is so often a damned good short story. ↗

— Jeffrey Archer

#book #short-story #short-story

Stop your bitching, Nick. You should try being an immortal demon who’s lived since the dawn of time having to sit through this crap when English is not my native tongue, and if you think you’re fluent in it, buddy, I actually know what a gerund is. ↗

— Sherrilyn Kenyon

#english

It touched me to be trusted with something terrible. ↗

— Elizabeth Kostova

#dark #dracula #european #fiction #historian

A recurrent question about photography is how much self expression it allows the photographer. There are two standard positions, each corresponding to a different location oh photographic skill. The opposition is neatly summed up in Bioy Casares’s novel The Adventures of a Photographer in La Plata (1989). The hero Nicolasito Almanza declares: ‘I am convinced that all of photography depends on the moment we press the release […] I believe that you’re a photographer if you know exactly when to press the release.’ In making this declaration he is responding to the opinion expressed by Mr Gruter, owner of a photographic laboratory: ‘[…] sometimes I wonder if the true work of the photographer doesn’t begin in the dark room, amid the trays and the enlarger. ↗

— Clive Scott

#photography #talent #work #photography

Be led by your talent, not by your self-loathing; those other things you just have to manage. ↗

— Russell Brand

#self-destruction #talent #destruction

He opened his mouth. The words were there. He was about to say them when a jolt of terror went through him, the terror of someone who, wandering in a mist, pauses only to realise that they have stopped inches from the edge of a gaping abyss. The way she was looking at him - she could read what was in his eyes, he realised. It must have been written plainly there, like words on the page of a book. There had been no time, no chance, to hide it. “Will,” she whispered. “Say something, Will.” But there was nothing to say. There was only emptiness, as there had been before her. As there would always be. 'I have lost everything', Will thought. 'Everything. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#clockwork-angel #despair #love #tessa-gray #will-herondale

Maybe weakness is a strength of a kind. ↗

— Melissa de la Cruz

#blue-bloods #fiction #martin-kingsley #van-alen-legacy #young-adult

The only way to truly be safer, was to accept the dark, to walk in it with eyes wide open, to be a part of it. To keep your enemies close. ↗

— C.J. Roberts

#dark #revenge #revenge

If Jem dies, I cannot be with Tessa,” said Will. “Because it will be as if I were waiting for him to die, or took some joy in his death, if it let me have her. And I will not be that person. I will not profit from his death. So he must live.” He lowered his arm, his sleeve bloody. “It is the only way any of this can ever mean anything. Otherwise it is only —” “Pointless, needless suffering and pain? I don’t suppose it would help if I told you that was the way life is. The good suffer, the evil flourish, and all that is mortal passes away,” Magnus said. “I want more than that,” said Will. “You made me want more than that. You showed me I was only ever cursed because I had chosen to believe myself so. You told me there was possibility, meaning. And now you would turn your back on what you created. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#clockwork-princess #magnus-bane #the-infernal-devices #will-herondale #death