#spare

My life is an open book; at least this photo album". ~R. Alan Woods [2013] ↗

— R. Alan Woods

#life-and-living #r-alan-woods #transparency #life

When he looks back at me, his eyes travel around my face the way fingers dart through the bottom of a drawer, searching for batteries in a blackout. ↗

— Holly Schindler

#searching #transparency #love

He had shown her all the workings of his soul, mistaking this for love. ↗

— E.M. Forster

#intimacy-self-sacrifice #therapy #transparency #love

She was halfway to deep sleep when the door creaked, a noise loud enough to rouse her, yet soft enough to doubt her having heard anything. She lay motionless, listening but hearing only the wind outside, the clock, the sounds of an ancient building. Normal sounds, but still her skin prickled. Pressure built in her head. Her pulse beat in her ears. The feeling of pressure thickened, stealing over her, a sense of envelopment, a shift in perception. Not her pulse, but footsteps. Someone pacing. Ten steps toward the fireplace. Ten back to the foot of her bed. The susurration of fabric against fabric. Metal sliding along metal, a low ringing sound, and mixed with that a murmuring. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing. No moving shadows, no figure approaching her bed, just the inert shapes of furniture and the resulting shadows. The resonance in her head grew, half convincing her she heard footsteps and the low, regular sound of breathing. The murmuring began again, a breath, then a whisper. My love. Steps paced near, and she swore she could feel the air thicken. Pain lanced along her temple. My heart. Unendurable pressure. She tried to move, but couldn't. Her limbs were frozen, trapped in her nightmare. More footsteps. A breath on her cheek. Cold air wafted through the room. My own. A face flashed before her eyes. She tried to breathe and couldn't get air into her lungs. She screwed her eyes shut, but the face didn't go away. The features blurred, looming, threatening, laughing. She knew that face, but the recollection refused to come. Terror like she'd known only once before in her life consumed her. Her lungs refused to expand. Or couldn't. She was going to die. She knew it. A scream bubbled in her throat. ↗

— Carolyn Jewel

#dream-sequence #olivia #the-spare #dreams

Thought is a kind of opium; it can intoxicate us, while still broad awake; it can make transparent the mountains and everything that exists. ↗

— Henri Frederic Amiel

#broad #everything #exists #intoxicate #kind

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds. ↗

— Andrew Marvell

#flowers #gather #spare

Spare me the whispering, crowded room, the friends who come and gape and go, the ceremonious air of gloom - all, which makes death a hideous show. ↗

— Matthew Arnold

#come #crowded #death #friends #gloom

I mean there's enormous pressures to harmonize freedom of speech legislation and transparency legislation around the world - within the E.U., between China and the United States. Which way is it going to go? It's hard to see. ↗

— Julian Assange

#between #china #enormous #freedom #freedom of speech

In my spare time I like watching TV, laying on the couch, just chillin'. ↗

— Casey Abrams

#i #just #laying #like #spare

When you grow up in a family of languages, you develop a kind of casual fluency, so that languages, though differently colored, all seem transparent to experience. ↗

— David Antin

#colored #develop #differently #experience #family