#lake

I laid my hand on top of theirs, and all I could think was, Is this how revolutions begin? Not with a proclamation or a riot, but with a few people in a room somewhere with their hands clasped and a purpose. ↗

— Laurell K. Hamilton

#revolution

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go? ↗

— John B. Tabb

#fall #foliage #leaves #snow #snowflakes

In chains and darkness, wherefore should I stay, And mourn in prison, while I keep the key. ↗

— Laurell K. Hamilton

#riquiem #mourning

Lately, when I didn't have room to bitch, I didn't. Maturity, at last. ↗

— Laurell K. Hamilton

#maturity #skin-trade #maturity