Perfection is static, and I am in full progress.
Submitted on Fri, 2010-03-05 07:38 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2496 from Henry and June by Anaïs Nin
The joy came from finding at last what hatred was made for. As a boy with an axe rejoices on finding a tree, or a boy with a box of coloured chalks rejoices on finding a pile of perfectly white paper, so he rejoiced in the perfect congruity between his emotion and its object. Bleeding and trembling with weariness as he was, he felt that nothing was beyond his power, and when he flung himself upon the living Death, the eternal Surd in the universal mathematic, he was astonished, and yet (on a deeper level) not astonished at all, at his own strength. His arms seemed to move quicker than his thought. His hands taught him terrible things. He felt its ribs break, he heard its jaw-bone crack. The whole creature seemed to be crackling and splitting under his blows. His own pains, where it tore him, somehow failed to matter. He felt that he could so fight, so hate with a perfect hatred, for a whole year.
Submitted on Sat, 2010-02-27 00:15 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2489 from Perelandra by C.S. Lewis
The unicorn was weary of human beings. Watching her companions as they slept, seeing the shadows of their dreams scurry over their faces, she would feel herself bending under the heaviness of knowing their names. Then she would run until morning to ease the ache; swifter than rain, swift as loss, racing to catch up with the time when she had known nothing at all but the sweetness of being herself.
Submitted on Fri, 2010-02-26 20:15 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2486 from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle
You made me confess the fears that I have. But I will tell you also what I do not fear. I do not fear to be alone or to be spurned for another or to leave whatever I have to leave. And I am not afraid to make a mistake, even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perhaps as long as eternity too.
Submitted on Fri, 2010-02-26 17:11 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2483 from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
I will not serve that in which I no longer believe whether it call itself my home, my fatherland or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use, silence, exile, and cunning.
Submitted on Fri, 2010-02-26 17:09 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2482 from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
It just seems like, you agree to have a certain personality or something. For no reason. Just to make things easier for everyone. But when you think about it, I mean, how do you know it's even you?
Submitted on Fri, 2010-02-26 11:39 — burgundybabe
Link to full quote: Quote #2476 from My So-Called Life [television show]
If I couldn't lie
Like all of a thousand other times
I wouldn't be on this highway
Taken on down this highwaySubmitted on Fri, 2010-02-26 10:02 — burgundybabe
Link to full quote: Quote #2470 from Dying Days by Screaming Trees
I'm sick of everything, I can't get out of bed
Just lay here, someone pull me out
I'm tired of these thoughts, the world moves outside
Feel like a ghost, rejected by the livingSubmitted on Mon, 2010-02-01 15:10 — Anonymous
Link to full quote: Quote #2464 from Apparition by No Use For A Name
On the afternoon of the day that Mrs. Montague was expected, Eleanor went alone into the hills above Hill House, not really intending to arrive at any place in particular, not even caring where or how she went, wanting only to be secret and out from under the heavy dark wood of the house. She found a small spot where the grass was soft and dry and lay down, wondering how many years it had been since she had lain on soft grass to be alone to think. Around her the trees and wild flowers, with that oddly courteous air of natural things suddenly interrupted in their pressing occupations of growing and dying, turned toward her with attention, as though, dull and imperceptive as she was, it was still necessary for them to be gentle to a creation so unfortunate as not to be rooted in the ground, forced to go from one place to another, heart-breakingly mobile. Idly Eleanor picked a wild daisy, which died in her fingers, and, lying on the grass, looked up into its dead face. There was nothing in her mind beyond an overwhelming wild happiness. She pulled at the daisy, and wondered, smiling at herself, What am I going to do? What am I going to do?
Submitted on Wed, 2010-01-20 21:09 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2453 from The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
Oh, our bones are clothed with an amorous new body.
Submitted on Wed, 2010-01-20 20:22 — Gabrielle
Link to full quote: Quote #2451 from Beauteous Being Arthur Rimbaud
