#fiction

I swing my arms to loosen myself up. Place my fists on my hips. then drop them to my sides. Saliva's filling my mouth at a ridiculous rate and i feel vomit at the back of my throat. I swallow hard and open my lips so I can get the stupid line out and go hide in the woods and-that's when i start crying. ↗

— Suzanne Collins

#dystopia-fiction #paintings #teen-fiction #teen

I really, really need some help and advice. I'm scared... I'm scared of my own home, of my own daughter! ↗

— Meinos Kaen

#fear #horror #science-fiction #scifi #family

Everything I know, I know because of love. ↗

— Leo Tolstoy

#love #love

I have you with me, and I'm terrified you'll disappear. ↗

— Jodi LaPalm

#love #romance #still-life #life

That was the real secret of the Tarahumara: they'd never forgotten what it felt like to love running. They remembered that running was mankind's first fine art, our original act of inspired creation. Way before we were scratching pictures on caves or beating rhythms on hollow trees, we were perfecting the art of combining our breath and mind and muscles into fluid self-propulsion over wild terrain. And when our ancestors finally did make their first cave paintings, what were the first designs? A downward slash, lightning bolts through the bottom and middle--behold, the Running Man. Distance running was revered because it was indispensable; it was the way we survived and thrived and spread across the planet. You ran to eat and to avoid being eaten; you ran to find a mate and impress her, and with her you ran off to start a new life together. You had to love running, or you wouldn't live to love anything else. And like everyhing else we ove--everything we sentimentally call our 'passions' and 'desires' it's really an encoded ancestral necessity. We were born to run; we were born because we run. We're all Running People, as the Tarahumara have always known. ↗

— Christopher McDougall

#non-fiction #passion #running #art

I love fictional characters...they can't break your heart. ↗

— Julia Hall

#heartbreak #love #on-fiction #love

She puts her hands on either side of my face, and the room falls away. I have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And then, the space between us explodes. My heart keeps missing beats and my hands cannot bring her close enough to me. I taste her and realize I have been starving. I have loved before, but it didn't feel like this. I have kissed before, but it didn't burn me alive. Maybe it lasts a minute, and maybe it's an hour. All I know is that kiss, and how soft her skin is when it brushes against mine, and that even if I did not know it until now, I have been waiting for this person forever. ↗

— Jodi Picoult

#jodi-picoult #jodi-picoult-sing-you-home #kiss #lesbians #love

Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until the day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel. This is how you lose her. ↗

— Junot Díaz

#essays #fiction #junot #literature #love

Romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love. ↗

— Benjamin Disraeli

#on-fiction #romance #love

Lips to lips, mouth to mouth, Comes the speaker of the shrouds, Suck in the spirit, speak the words, Let secrets of the dead be heard. ↗

— Yasmine Galenorn

#dragon #love #paranormal #paranormal-fiction #paranormal-romance