#t

She's like a prisoner inside stone walls, and every day the walls get a little thicker, the doorways a little narrower." "And?" Eddis prompted. "Well," said Eugenides, "it's a challenge. ↗

— Megan Whalen Turner

#challenge

I spent the rest of the day in someone else's story. The rare moments that I put the book down, my own pain returned in burning stabs. ↗

— Amy Plum

#die-for-me #escape #kate #loneliness #reading

The anoretic operates under the astounding illusion that she can escape the flesh, and, by association, the realm of emotions. ↗

— Marya Hornbacher

#self-image #escape

Anyway, it doesn't matter how much, how often, or how closely you keep an eye on things because you can't control it. Sometimes things and people just go. Just like that. ↗

— Cecelia Ahern

#control

If you want to control someone, all you have to do is to make them feel afraid. ↗

— Paulo Coelho

#intimidation #control

Big things begin with big thinking. ↗

— Kent Healy

#inspirational #success #dreams

I had a dream about you. You told me you loved me, and then you stabbed me with a spoon. Luckily, moments before your attack, I assumed the identity of a bowl of Jell-O. Later on in the dream, as a half-eaten bowl of Jell-O, I launched a successful political campaign, got elected, and moved to Washington DC.
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#dreams #funny #humor #life #relationships

But the Australians, what do the Australians do? How do they structure their landscape? For a start they postulate a primal builder, whose work they presume only to interpret: the mythical animal who was active in the “dreamtime,” that is, a primal era, beyond verification, as the name indicates. A time of sleep. The visible landscape is an effect of causes that are to be found in the dreamtime. For example, the snake that dragged itself over this plain creating these undulations, etc., etc. These.. curious Aborigines make sure their eyes are closed while events take place, which allows them to see places as records of events. But what they see is a kind of dream, and they wake into a reverie, since the real story (the snake, not the hills) happened while they were asleep. ↗

— César Aira

#australian-aboriginal #dreamtime #dreams

I looked at the images hanging on the walls, wanting to find those things in her pictures. My favorite was directly across from me: a photo of a beaten, weathered hull of a rowboat. I knew about as much about boats as I did photography, which was next to nothing, but that boat wasn’t going anywhere near the water anytime soon unless the owner decided it would make a mediocre shipwreck to explore while scuba diving. Nevertheless, it faced the out-of-focus lake in the background, almost hopefully, as if it hadn’t yet decided its best days were gone, as if it still dreamed of bobbing peacefully on the waves. “Does that one have a name?” I asked. She smiled. “Seaworthy. ↗

— Leesa Freeman

#photography #dreams

Jack and Jill slept, wrapped in each other's arms, untroubled by any dream in their cocoon of freshly discovered wrinkly passion. ↗

— Helen Hodgman

#dream #in-each-other-s-arms #passion #slept #untroubled