#prose

There is a deep truth in being at home enough with someone to kiss them while your lips are dry. And happiness may not be the greatest of things to hear, but it should be. ↗

— Mikl Paul

#poetry #prose-poetry #home

...because of the foulness of her mother's emotional river, a current which ran swift, changing its path without warning... ↗

— Tamara Rose Blodgett

#descriptive-prose #dystopia #from-review #paranormal-romance #post-apocalyptic

i could have told him to learn from Gatsby. from the lonely, isolated Gatsby, who also tried to retrieve his past and give flash and blood to a fancy, a dream that was never meant to be more than a dream. ↗

— Azar Nafisi

#dreams

Watch me go. Watch me. Because you said i couldn't. Because you thought I wouldn't. Go on, cry now. Cry. ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#breaking-up #couples #excerpts #free #heartbreak

Most people become bankrupt through having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour. ↗

— Oscar Wilde

#poetry #prose #life

Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan scornful mouth smiled and I drew her up again, closer, this time to my face. ↗

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

#prose #the-great-gatsby #love

He left her a note in her right slipper that said when I was alone yesterday I was happy, and I wanted you to know. Because look at how much you've done in me. ↗

— Mikl Paul

#poetry #prose-poetry #love

The sitting room is subdued, symmetrical; it's one of the shapes money takes when it freezes. Money has trickled through this room for years and years, as if through an underground cavern, crusting and hardening like stalactites into these forms. ↗

— Margaret Atwood

#pretty-prose #money

I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another til I drop. ↗

— Jack Kerouac

#beatnik #poetic #poetry #prose #confusion

A shaft of moonlight illuminated a row of sentinel silver birch in a phosphorescent glow, appearing almost ethereal in the relative surrounding gloom. Boris had stopped again, his silhouette a stark black juxtaposition against the background of illuminated branches. ↗

— R.D. Ronald

#visual-moments #visualization