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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #vol
Para que los pasos no me lloren, para que las palabras no me sangren: canto. Para tu rostro fronterizo del alma que me ha nacido entre las manos: canto. Para decir qe me has crecido clara en los huesos más amargos de la voz: canto. Para que nadie diga: ¡tierra mía!, con toda la decisión de la nostalgia: canto. Por lo que no debe morir, tu pueblo: canto. Me lanzo a caminar sobre mi voz para decirte: tú, interrogación de frutas y mariposas silvestres, no perderás el paso en los andamios de mi grito, porque hay un maya alfarero en tu corazón, que bajo el mar, adentro de la estrella, humeando en las raíces, palpitando mundo, enreda tu nombre en mis palabras. Canto tu nombre, alegre como un violín de surcos, porque viene al encuentro de mi dolor humano. Me busca del abrazo del mar hasta el abrazo del viento para ordenarme que no tolere el crepúsculo en mi boca. Me acompaña emocionado el sacrificio de ser hombre, para que nunca baje al lugar donde nació la traición del vil que ató tu corazón a la tiniebla, ¡negándote! ↗
#love #revolution #love
It's not the coffee that unfurls our minds and spirits, but the meaningful conversation that accompanies it. It's not the coffee that lifts our eyes and awakens our bodies, but the time we take to make it. And it's not the coffee that prepares us for the day, but the encouraging words from those we love. ↗
#love
Joel sat back in his chair and laughed at what seemed to be an inside joke, one in which I wanted very much to be let in on. An amiable smile stretched across his lips quoted by perfect dimples. I stared at him wanting nothing more than to indulge myself in that smile. ↗
#severance #shawn-kirsten-maravel #volition #young-adult-novels #love
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. ↗
Damen felt Laurent start shaking against him, and realised that, silently, helplessly, he was laughing. [...] 'This is the tavern prostitute. You idiot, the Prince of Vere is so celibate I doubt he even touches himself once every ten years. You. We're looking for two men. One was a barbarian soldier, a giant animal. The other was blond. Not like this boy. Attractive.' 'There was a blond lord's pet downstairs,' said Volo. 'Brained like a pea and easy to hoodwink. I don't think he was the Prince.' 'I wouldn't call him blond. More like mousy. And he wasn't that attractive,' said the boy, sulkily. The shaking, progressively, had worsened. 'Stop enjoying yourself,' Damen murmured. 'We're going to be killed, any minute.' 'Giant animal,' said Laurent. 'Stop it. ↗
The Universe was a damned silly place at best . . . but the least likely explanation for its existence was the no-explanation of random chance, the conceit that some abstract somethings "just happened" to be some atoms that "just happened" to get together in configurations which "just happened" to look like consistent laws and then some of these configurations "just happened" to possess self-awareness and that two such "just happened" to be the Man from Mars and the other a bald-headed old coot with Jubal himself inside. No, Jubal would not buy the "just happened" theory, popular as it was with men who called themselves scientists. Random chance was not a sufficient explanation of the Universe--in fact, random chance was not sufficient to explain random chance; the pot could not hold itself. ↗
How small and neat and comically serious the other men looked, with their grey-flecked crew cuts and their button-down collars and their brisk little hurrying feet! There were endless desperate swarms of them, hurrying through the station and the streets, and an hour from now they would all be still. The waiting mid-town office buildings would swallow them up and contain them, so that to stand in one tower looking out across the canyon to another would be to inspect a great silent insectarium displaying hundreds of tiny pink men in white shirts, forever shifting papers and frowning into telephones, acting out their passionate little dumb show under the supreme indifference of the rolling spring clouds. ↗
