#top

It was a time I slept in many rooms, called myself by many names. I wandered through the quarters of the city like alluvium wanders the river banks. I knew every kind of joy, ascents of every hue. Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs. ↗

— Roman Payne

#literature #payne #roman #rooftop-soliloquy #love

A Chinaman of the T'ang Dynasty—and, by which definition, a philosopher—dreamed he was a butterfly, and from that moment he was never quite sure that he was not a butterfly dreaming it was a Chinese philosopher. Envy him; in his two-fold security. ↗

— Tom Stoppard

#plays #stoppard #dreams

So stop sulking. You're not old enough for the cool, tortured look. ↗

— Tite Kubo

#isshin #not-old-enough #stop-sulking #torture

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph. ↗

— Shirley Temple

#asked #autograph #believing #claus #department

Yes. The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference. That is why few people find God. They go to church and talk about him and that sort of thing. They may even go out and evangelize and try to win converts. But in their hearts, if they are honest with themselves, they are indifferent to him because they cannot see him. God is too abstract for people. God is a word without meaning. If Jesus came back today, nothing he said would make any sense to those who wait for him. They would be the first ones to kill him again. ↗

— Christopher Pike

#christopher-pike #thirst-volume- #love

I want pancakes.” “What? Right now?” “No. For breakfast.” “Oh.” He yawned. “You’d better get up early then.” “Me? I’m not going to make them.” “Yeah?” His sleepy voice carried mock sympathy. “Who’s going to make them for you then?” “You are.” “Am I? You think I’m going to make you pancakes? Is that how you think it’s going to be?" "You’re so good at,” I whined. “Besides, if you do, I’ll sit on the counter in a short robe while you cook.” His soft laughter segued into another yawn. “Oh. Well then.” He kissed my ear again. “Maybe I’ll make you pancakes. ↗

— Richelle Mead

#richelle-mead #succubus-on-top #laughter

Look who's calling the cauldron black." "Kettle. It’s a kettle. Get your metaphors right." "That wasn’t a metaphor. It was a, you know..." He stared off into space, blinking. "One of those things that’s symbolic of another thing. But isn’t the same thing. Just like it." "You mean a metaphor?" "No! It’s like a story...like...a proverb! That’s it." "I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a proverb. Maybe it was an analogy." "I don’t think so. ↗

— Richelle Mead

#richelle-mead #succubus-on-top #metaphor

Are you listening, little bird? ↗

— Lilith Saintcrow

#betrayal

And it is strange that absence can feel like presence. ↗

— Ally Condie

#ally-condie #crossed #dystopia #dystopian-fiction #page-

Road-rage is really another expression of inner rage. However, because driving is such a trigger for millions of people, we have labelled it “road-rage”, directing the emotional dysfunction to an external circumstance rather than coming to terms with the internal condition. ↗

— Christopher Dines

#la-petite-fleur-publishing #manifest-your-bliss #inner-peace