#poetic

Do not wander in the deeps, Where the Shriker's shadow creeps. When he rises from beneath, Beware the Sharpness of his teeth. ↗

— Janet Lee Carey

#death #horror #poetic #supernatural #death

Ty?” I said, trying out your name, liking the way it sounded. “So what’s it like anyway? Australia?” You smiled then, and your whole face changed with it. It kind of lit up, like there were sunbeams coming from inside you. “You’ll find out,” you said. ↗

— Lucy Christopher

#dark #poetic-fiction #change

Being Adam Parrish was a complicated thing, a wonder of muscles and organs, synapses and nerves. He was a miracle of moving parts, a study in survival. The most important thing to Adam Parrish, though, had always been free will, the ability to be his own master. This was the important thing. It had always been the important thing. This was what it was to be Adam. ↗

— Maggie Stiefvater

#poetic #sweet #inspirational

He who has not been bitten by the serpents of light and snapped at by the wolves of darkness will always be deceived by the days and the nights. ↗

— Kahlil Gibran

#poetic #inspirational

Maybe he was as mad as he said he was, but she could see only a species of miserable fright. Suddenly, like the thud of a boxing glove on her mouth, she saw how close to the edge of everything he was. The agency was tottering, that was bad enough, and now, on top of that, like a grisly dessert following a putrid main course, his marriage was tottering too. She felt a rush of warmth for him, for this man she had sometimes hated and had, for the last three hours at least, feared. A kind of epiphany filled her. Most of all, she hoped he would always think he had been as mad as hell, and not . . . not the way his face said he felt. ↗

— Stephen King

#marriage

I write the word solitude on my wall and then below it: Do you know me at all? Are my words just air? Is my heart easy to spare? ↗

— Jessica Sorensen

#death

Fables should be taught as fables, myths as myths, and miracles as poetic fantasies. To teach superstitions as truths is a most terrible thing. The child mind accepts and believes them, and only through great pain and perhaps tragedy can he be in after years relieved of them. ↗

— Hypatia

#after #believes #child #fables #fantasies

Love encompasses so much, reaches so far, and heals so deeply, that any attempt to describe it, no matter how poetic, only dilutes it. ↗

— Steve Maraboli

#heals #love #poetic #relationships #soul-mates

The poetic act consists of suddenly seeing that an idea splits up into a number of equal motifs and of grouping them; they rhyme. ↗

— Stephane Mallarme

#consists #equal #grouping #idea #into

The Resistance is a moral certainty, not a poetic one. The true poet never uses words in order to punish someone. His judgment belongs to a creative order; it is not formulated as a prophetic scripture. ↗

— Salvatore Quasimodo

#certainty #creative #formulated #his #judgment