#tempo

A forza di soffrire per te ho contratto un debito intellettuale nei confronti del tempo che attraverso. Sono un militante del pensiero critico. Mi attirano libri che fino a qualche tempo fa m’innervosivano solo a leggerne il titolo. Sei compatibile con tutto: con il privato, il pubblico, la politica, l’etica, l’estetica, la religione, la musica, la letteratura, il cinema, il teatro, l’informazione, la tecnologia, la pubblicità dei pannolini e persino quella delle macchine. Ogni cosa è compromessa con te. E io sono obbligato a speculare su tutto, perché tutto ti riguarda. Sei ovunque, tranne dove vorrei che fossi. Indovina dove. ↗

— Diego De Silva

#critico #libri #soffrire #tempo #vita

Are you referring to the day you instructed me to ‘follow the white rabbit,’ plied me with absinthe and brownies, and tried to have your way with me? Didn’t take long for you to lose your romantic streak, did it? ↗

— Elle Lothlorien

#romantic

Once the principals in their party are seated, with those lower on the totem pole left to grumble and move on to find another table, our once-cozy booth transforms into a damp fusion of vacuous wretchedness, with the three women all complaining alternately about their wet hair/clothes and their respective distance from Talon, while the man himself is trying to maneuver his Paul Bunyan frame way too close to me. ↗

— Elle Lothlorien

#respect

I think it should be obvious by now that I’m not necessarily interested in reality. ↗

— Elle Lothlorien

#contemporary-romance

No good deed goes unpunished - Oscar Wilde ↗

— Allen Mack

#graphic-sex #humor #non-fict #pro-gay #sci-fi

The Photograph is an extended, loaded evidence — as if it caricatured not the figure of what it represents (quite the converse) but its very existence ... The Photograph then becomes a bizarre (i)medium(i), a new form of hallucination: false on the level of perception, true on the level of time: a temporal hallucination, so to speak, a modest (o)shared(i) hallucination (on the one hand 'it is not there,' on the other 'but it has indeed been'): a mad image, chafed by reality. ↗

— Roland Barthes

#temporal-hallucination #photography

I can see the stars in your eyes from a mile away. They guide me to you just like the North Star.” Then he bent his head and kissed her – a long, sweet kiss under moonbeams that caressed them both lovingly. ↗

— Kelly Curry

#contemporary #love #romance-novels #romances #contemporary-romance

Emerson lifts his head. His eyes are two dark pools of desire, a clouded night’s sky. He catches his breath a moment, unsteady, and then drops a kiss on my lips. Sweet. Almost tender. I barely have time to take it in before he grabs my shoulder and spins me around, pushing me so my bare chest is slammed up into the wall, my cheek pressed against the cold concrete. I gasp, my heart skipping with the thrill. I can feel him up against me, a solid wall of muscle trapping me in place, the hard ridge of him pressed against the small of my back. I can’t move, or see the expression on his face, only hear the hoarse groan Emerson sounds as he twists a handful of my hair and yanks it to one side, kissing a searing trail along the curve of my neck. I whimper, bound and powerless against him, and oh God, loving every minute of it. ↗

— Melody Grace

#new-adult-contemporary-romance #new-adult-romance #sexy #love

Everything is temporary. Everything is bound to end. ↗

— Keren Ann

#end #everything #temporary

Every American poet feels that the whole responsibility for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary aristocracy of one. ↗

— W. H. Auden

#aristocracy #contemporary #every #fallen #feels