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Somebody, it seemed, gave it out that I loved ladies; and then everybody presented me their ladies (or the ladies presented themselves) to be embraced, that is to have their necks kissed...The French ladies had a thousand other ways of rendering themselves agreeable by their various attentions and civilities, and their sensible conversation. Tis a delightful people to live with. ↗
#love
Begitulah manusia. Dikaruniai berkah cantik, pintar dan populer ternyata tidak cukup membahagiakan baut mereka. Memang ada begitu banyak hal menarik yang ada di dunia. Namun satu hal yang pasti, hanya cinta yang sanggup menjanjikan kebahagiaan. ↗
All I ever wanted, nira I expected: Nonette, upon whom my life pivots. The name I give my fire when I lay down, defenseless before its majestic awfulness. A little no, a little negation. A French girly pout, the syllables for which have been found at last. All my hurt dug up, exposed for dissection in the glaring light, and finally melted away by the loving caresses of her yielding thighs. And the girl who took such simple job in this terrible duty. Nonette. ↗
Agonizing really, how enduring love can be. Even after you have packed it up and put it away, it is still there—always there, yellowing around the edges and begging you to turn its pages again. ↗
It is easy to have love affairs than to solve math problems but it is easy to learn if you trust God ↗
Because I'm moved in writing to be irrepressible. Writing to you seems like some holy cause, cause there's not enough female irrepressibility written down. I've fused my silence and repression with the entire female gender's silence and repression. I think the sheer fact of women talking, being, paradoxical, inexplicable, flip, self-destructive but above all else public is the most revolutionary thing in the world. ↗
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don’t talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; . . . ↗
They had started speaking of “women and children”—that phrase that exempts the male from sanity when it has been repeated a few times. Each felt that all he loved best in the world was at stake, demanded revenge, and was filled with a not unpleasing glow, in which the chilly and half-known features of Miss Quested vanished, and were replaced by all that is sweetest and warmest in private life. “But it’s the women and children,” they repeated, and the Collector knew he ought to stop them intoxicating themselves, but he hadn’t the heart. ↗
#love
