#er

Without a doubt it was Dr. Urbino's most contagious initiative, for opera fever infected the most surprising elements in the city and gave rise to a whole generation of Isoldes and Otellos and Aidas and Siegfrieds. But it never reached the extremes Dr. Urbino had hoped for, which was to see Italianizers and Wagnerians confronting each other with sticks and canes during the intermissions. ↗

— Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

#love

It is the rub that polishes the jewel,” Enso Roshi says. “Nobody ever gets to nirvana without going through samsara. Nobody ever gets to heaven, without going through hell. The center of all things, the truth, is surrounded by demons. ↗

— T. Scott McLeod

#enlightenment #love #meditation #peace #spiritual-journey

The fiery tickle of outrage burned up her throat. “How the hell would you know that when you never gave me a chance?” Something dark and scorching flickered behind his eyes. “Because no other girl has ever made me want to forget all my own rules for them. ↗

— Airicka Phoenix

#dangerous-games #mystery-suspense #passionate-love #thriller #young-adult

While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire, I And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens, I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit rots to make earth. Qut of the mother; and through the spring exultances, ripeness and decadence; and home to the mother. You making haste haste on decay: not blameworthy; life is good, be it stubbornly long or suddenly A mortal splendor: meteors are not needed less than mountains: shine, perishing republic. But for my children. I would have them keep their dis- tance from the thickening center; corruption. Never has been compulsory, when the cities lie at the monster’s feet there are left the mountajns. And boys, be in nothing so moderate as in love of man, a clever servant, insufferable master. There is the trap that catches noblest spirits, that caught -–they say--God, when he walked on earth. ↗

— Robinson Jeffers

#republic #life

Staring at my outstretched pinky questioningly his perfect lips twitched into a smile. Pinky promise? ↗

— Natalie Valdes

#natalie-valdes #pinky-promise #smile #together-foreve #love

I have fallen in love with you Sasha Ava Stryker. I am afraid it is eternal and binding. I wanted to stake my claim on you tonight. To make you mine – for now and infinity to come. ↗

— Farrah Naseem

#claim #eternal #farrah-naseem #infinity #love

Hmmm, good isn’t fun, but I’ll try,” he whispers to me. ~ The Light Tamer ↗

— Devyn Dawson

#love #relationship #sexy #sweet #the-light-tamer

Part of me thinks we're fools to trust either of the, Hapexamendios or His Reconciler. If He was such a loving God, why did He do so much harm? And don't tell me He moves in mysterious ways because that's so much horse shit and we both know it. ↗

— Clive Barker

#clive #imajica #judith #love

The significant difference between Proust and Faulkner, for Sartre, is that where Proust discovers salvation in time, in the recovery of time past, for Faulkner time is never lost, however much he may want, like a mystic, to forget time. Both writers emphasize the transitoriness of emotion, of the condition of love or misery, or whatever passes because it is transitory in time. "Proust really should have employed a technique like Faulkner's," Sartre legislates, "that was the logical outcome of his metaphysic. Faulkner, however, is a lost man, and because he knows that he is lost he risks pushing his thoughts to its conclusion. Proust is a classicist and a Frenchman; and the French lose themselves with caution and always end by finding themselves. ↗

— John McCormick

#love

A good friend will help you move, but a true friend will help you move a body. ↗

— Steven J. Daniels

#fiction #mystery-novels #love