#din

The horse, with beauty unsurpassed, strength immeasurable and grace unlike any other, still remains humble enough to carry a man upon his back. ↗

— Amber Senti

#horses #beauty

I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish. ↗

— Markus Zusak

#books #markus-zusak #reading #beauty

I left Guiding Light so many times, they ran out of champagne. ↗

— Michael Zaslow

#guiding #i #left #light #many

When I was younger, many of my romantic escapades were just a means of simply avoiding being by myself. I was afraid of feeling lonely, afraid I wouldn't know what to say to myself. ↗

— Michael Zaslow

#avoiding #being #feeling #i #just

Reading was my escape and my comfort, my consolation, my stimulant of choice: reading for the pure pleasure of it, for the beautiful stillness that surrounds you when you hear an author’s words reverberating in your head. ↗

— Paul Auster

#choice #comfort #comsolation #escape #pleasure

…and soon enough his head would be swimming with tales of derring-do and high adventure, tales of beautiful maidens kissed, of evildoers shot with pistols or fought with swords, of bags of gold, of diamonds as big as the tip of your thumb, of lost cities and of vast mountains, of steam-trains and clipper ships, of pampas, oceans, deserts, tundra. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#reading #stories #beauty

Europeans condemned Chinese foot binding, but any society that had invented the corset had a lot to answer for. ↗

— Mary Jo Putney

#corsets #foot-binding #beauty

Things don’t have to be extraordinary to be beautiful. Even the ordinary can be beautiful. ↗

— Wicker Park

#extraordinary #ordinary #things #beauty

That is part of the beauty of literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong. ↗

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

#beauty

The trees around and overhead were so thick that it was always dry inside and on Sunday morning I lay there with Jonas, listening to his stories. All cat stories start with the statement: "My mother, who was the first cat, told me this," and I lay with my head close to Jonas and listened. There was no change coming, I thought here, only spring; I was wrong to be so frightened. The days would get warmer, and Uncle Julian would sit in the sun, and Constance would laugh when she worked in the garden, and it would always be the same. Jonas went on and on ("And then we sang! And then we sang!") and the leaves moved overhead and it would always be the same. ↗

— Shirley Jackson

#hiding #security #trees #change