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She put her arms around his waist and looked up at his face. “I did? What did I take?” He bent down to kiss her. She stood to meet him halfway. His lips softly touched her lips and her neck as his hands became tangled in her hair. “I believe it was my heart. ↗
There is bound to be someone driven mad by love who will give you the chance to study the effects of gold cyanide on a cadaver. And when you do find one, observe with care, they almost always have crystals in their heart ↗
#love-in-the-time-of-cholera #spanish-literature #time #love
Perhaps it’s that you can’t go back in time, but you can return to the scenes of a love, of a crime, of happiness, and of a fatal decision; the places are what remain, are what you can possess, are what is immortal. They become the tangible landscape of memory, the places that made you, and in some way you too become them. They are what you can possess and in the end what possesses you. ↗
#love
I'm thankful because I'm still alive. I'm thankful because I lived the mantra, Only The Strong Survive. I'm thankful because I have Chris Ann. And that has made all the difference. And it always will. It always gets better. I told you so... ↗
#jamie-schoffman #not-all-out-of-love #strong #thankful #love
To keep something, you must take care of it. More, you must understand just what sort of care it requires. You must know the rules and abide by them. She could do that. She had been doing it all the months, in the writing of her letters to him. There had been rules to be learned in that matter, and the first of them was the hardest: never say to him what you want him to say to you. Never tell him how sadly you miss him, how it grows no better, how each day without him is sharper than the day before. Set down for him the gay happenings about you, bright little anecdotes, not invented, necessarily, but attractively embellished. Do not bedevil him with the pinings of your faithful heart because he is your husband, your man, your love. For you are writing to none of these. You are writing to a soldier. ↗
#love #melancholy #parker #faith
[Large countries'] patriotism is different: they are buoyed by their glory, their importance, their universal mission. The Czechs loved their country not because it was glorious but because it was unknown; not because it was big but because it was small and in constant danger. Their patriotism was an enormous compassion for their country. ↗
