#not

The projector's beam lay warm on Walt's neck, and he knew they'd all been plucked from danger and love, from another time, another place, and set back into this dark, sticky-floored theater, in the heart of nothing much that mattered. ↗

— Alan Heathcock

#nothing #love

His version of 'real' love isn't sufficient for me, I don't think anyone should settle for so little. It wasn't love - not in the true sense. On my part, it was neediness, insecurity, dependence, habit - desperate to feel loved by a man who was often ambivalent towards me.  ↗

— Freya North

#versions-of-love #love

She had what I'd call a lemming ass - that is, an ass that you would follow right over the edge of the cliff. ↗

— Andrew Davidson

#not-romantic #humor

The werewolf pointed at a bench next to the door into the Kirkwoods’ tomb. “Sit. Wait.” Did I mention werewolves were chatty? ↗

— Mindee Arnett

#just-kidding-not-really #supernatural #humor

There is within me a knot of cruelty borne by the stream of love, much as our blood sometimes bears the seed of our destruction ... ↗

— James Hurst

#hurst #ibis #james #knot #love

Leave us alone without books and we shall be lost and in confusion at once. We shall not know what to join on to, what to cling to, what to love and what to hate, what to respect and what to despise. We are oppressed at being men -- men with a real individual body and blood, we are ashamed of it, we think it a disgrace and try to contrive to be some sort of impossible generalised man. We are stillborn, and for generations past have been begotten, not by living fathers, and that suits us better and better. We are developing a taste for it. Soon we shall contrive to be born somehow from an idea. But enough; I don't want to write more from "Underground. ↗

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky

#notes #subsuelo #underground #love

I swear, gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness - a real thorough-going illness. ↗

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky

#disease #fyodor-dostoyevsky #illness #intellect #notes-from-the-underground

He invited me to his apartment in the wee hours one morning and pulled out a set of children's building blocks. It seems he used to ride around and around on the Yamanote Line with them, building castles on the floor of the train. ↗

— Ryū Murakami

#japanese #japanese-literature #train #yamanote #japan

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader -- not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon. ↗

— E.L. Doctorow

#rain

Right at that moment it was as if we were the only two people left in the world. And I don't mean that to sound corny; it just honestly did. The only sounds were the droning crickets and chip-chips of the bats, the farawy wind against the sand, and the occasional distant yowl of a dingo. There were no car horns.No trains. No jack-hammers. No lawnmowers No planes. No sirens. No alarms. No anything human. If you'd told me that you'd saved me from a nuclear holocaust, I might have believed you. ↗

— Lucy Christopher

#nothingness #serenity #holocaust