#loved

You're too damn beautiful for your own good.Hell,you're too damn beautiful for my own good ↗

— Caisey Quinn

#love-story #musicians #beauty

Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching, said, ‘She must weep or she will die.’ Then they praised him, soft and low, Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stepped, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee— Like summer tempest came her tears— ‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’ -Alfred Lord Tennyson ↗

— Colleen Houck

#death

People who fall in love can fall out of it. ↗

— Philip Beard

#realistic-fiction #young-adult #death

Every second of everyday I still love them, and I won’t believe they are dead until I see it for myself. ↗

— Shannon A. Thompson

#death-of-a-loved-one #love #death

It was the sound of a thousand hungry children crying, ten thousand widows tearing their hair over their husband's graves, a chorus of angels singing the last dirge on the day of God's death. ↗

— Christopher Moore

#sorrow #death

What is it? Nothing. I had a bad dream. What did you dream about? Nothing. Are you okay? No. He put his arms around him and held him. It's okay, he said. I was crying. But you didnt wake up. I'm sorry. I was just so tired. I meant in the dream. ↗

— Cormac McCarthy

#comfort-of-love #fear #fear-of-losing-loved-ones #love #dreams

She pauses several treads from the bottom, listening, waiting; she is again possessed (it seems to be getting worse) by a dream-like feeling, as if she is standing in the wings, about to go onstage and perform in a play for which she is not appropriately dressed, and for which she has not adequately rehearsed. ↗

— Michael Cunningham

#domestic-life #loved-ones #numb-depression #preparation-to-face-the-day #putting-on-an-act

Who indeed knows the secret of the earthly pilgrimage? Who knows for what we live, and struggle, and die? Who knows what keeps us living and struggling, while all things break about us? Who knows why the warm flesh of a child is such comfort, when one's own child is lost and cannot be recovered? Wise men write many books, in words too hard to understand. But this, the purpose of our lives, the end of all our struggle, is beyond all human wisdom. ↗

— Alan Paton

#cry-the-beloved-country #life #life

Indeed, there is something in this valley, some spirit and some life, and much to talk about in the huts. Although nothing has come yet, something is here already. ↗

— Alan Paton

#alan-paton #cry-the-beloved-country #life

Mrs. Bittarcy rustled ominously, holding her peace meanwhile. She feared long words she did not understand. Beelzebub lay hid among too many syllables. ↗

— Algernon Blackwood

#love