#kindle

Peeling off my skin / leaving just my eyes behind / You see inside my head / Still know that you are mine. ↗

— Maggie Stiefvater

#kindlehighlight

Presents are made for the pleasure of who gives them, not for the merits of who receives them, ↗

— Carlos Ruiz Zafon

#kindlehighlight

The right belief is like a good cloak, I think. If it fits you well, it keeps you warm and safe. The wrong fit however, can suffocate. ↗

— Brandon Sanderson

#kindlehighlight

It is how we respond to loss that matters. That response will largely determine the quality, the direction, and the impact of our lives. ↗

— Gerald Lawson Sittser

#kindlehighlight

with his customary crooked smile, “are just too unlikely to dwell upon. ↗

— Cassandra Clare

#kindlehighlight

All that glitters is not hovery. ↗

— Scott Westerfeld

#kindlehighlight

Meditation is the only intentional, systematic human activity which at bottom is about not trying to improve yourself or get anywhere else, but simply to realize where you already are. ↗

— Jon Kabat-Zinn

#kindlehighlight

happened as I listened: I felt pain. Not in my head, not in my arm, not in my leg; everywhere at once. I told myself there was no difference between being “inside” and being “outside,” that it all came down to X’s and O’s that could be acquired in any number of different ways, but the pain increased to a point where I thought I might collapse, and I limped away. ↗

— Jennifer Egan

#kindlehighlight

I couldn’t help thinking that if I, by pure chance, had found a whole universe in a single unknown book, buried in that endless necropolis, tens of thousands more would remain unexplored, forgotten forever. I felt myself surrounded by millions of abandoned pages, by worlds and souls without an owner sinking in an ocean of darkness, while the world that throbbed outside the library seemed to be losing its memory, day after day, unknowingly, feeling all the wiser the more it forgot. ↗

— Carlos Ruiz Zafon

#kindlehighlight

ALL HE COULD SEE, IN EVERY DIRECTION, WAS WATER. It was June 23, 1943. Somewhere on the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean, Army Air Forces bombardier and Olympic runner Louie Zamperini lay across a small raft, drifting westward. Slumped alongside him was a sergeant, one of his plane’s gunners. On a separate raft, tethered to the first, lay another crewman, a gash zigzagging across his forehead. Their bodies, burned by the sun and stained yellow from the raft dye, had winnowed down to skeletons. Sharks glided in lazy loops around them, dragging their backs along the rafts, waiting. ↗

— Laura Hillenbrand

#world-war-ii