#be

It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy--just different. There's nothing wrong with being different. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#artist #beauty #city-of-bones #crazy #different

So how come it looks so beautiful? How come the moon falls from the sky? ↗

— Thom Yorke

#beauty

People talk about the beauty of the spring, but I can't see it. The trees are brown and bare, slimy with rain. Some are crawling with new purple hairs. And the buds are bulging like tumorous acne, and I can tell that something wet, and soft, and cold, and misshapen is about to be born. And I am turning into a vampire. ↗

— M.T. Anderson

#thirsty #vampire #beauty

I wanted her in a way that made me feel like every second I was sated and starving. ↗

— Christina Lauren

#beauty

I really was alone, and the only thing worse than being alone was having everyone else see how lonely you were ↗

— Kami Garcia

#ethan-wate #beauty

Not gray, exactly. Right before the sun rises there's a moment when the whole sky goes this pale nothing color-not really gray but sort of, or sort of white, and I've always really liked it because it reminds me of waiting for something good to happen. ↗

— Lauren Oliver

#beautiful #beauty

A beautiful battle is one you don't have to fight ↗

— Robert Jordan

#mat #red-hand #beauty

I am one in a row of specimens. It's when I try to flutter out of line that he hates me. I'm meant to be dead, pinned, always the same, always beautiful. He knows that part of my beauty is being alive. but it's the dead me he wants. He wants me living-but-dead. ↗

— John Fowles

#control #kidnap #beauty

Love is terrifying and hard and awful but it’s also amazing and beautiful, and there’s something about us, as humans, that wants that perfect relationship even though we know it’s probably unattainable, and even if we do manage to get it, holding on to t, helping it grow into something that will last a lifetime, well… it’s daunting in its impossibility. ↗

— Ted Michael

#beauty

A poem was a box for your soul. That was the point. It was the place where you could save bits of yourself, and shake out your darkest feelings, without worrying that people would think you were strange. While I was writing, I would forget myself and everyone else; poetry made me feel part of something noble and beautiful and bigger than me. [...] I slid them under the carpet as soon as they were done, all the images and rhymes wrestled into place. By the time I had copied them out, I found I had memorized every line. Then they would surprise me by surging through me, like songs I knew by heart. ↗

— Andrea Ashworth

#writing #beauty