Bookshelf of Wonders

I've been homesick for countries I've never been, and longed to be where I couldn't be.

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

As he caught his footing, his head fell back, and the Milky Way flowed down inside him with a roar.

The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak; Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak: It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,— God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Reach me down my Tycho Brahé, — I would know him when we meet, When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet; He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how We are working to completion, working on from then to now. Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete, Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet, And remember men will scorn it, ‘tis original and true, And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you. But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn, You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn, What for us are all distractions of men’s fellowship and wiles; What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles. You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late, But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate. Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight; You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night. I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known. You “have none but me,” you murmur, and I “leave you quite alone”? Well then, kiss me, — since my mother left her blessing on my brow, There has been a something wanting in my nature until now; I can dimly comprehend it, — that I might have been more kind, Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind. I “have never failed in kindness”? No, we lived too high for strife,— Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life; But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still To the service of our science: you will further it? you will! There are certain calculations I should like to make with you, To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true; And remember, “Patience, Patience,” is the watchword of a sage, Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age. I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap; But if none should do my reaping, ‘twill disturb me in my sleep So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name; See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame. I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak; Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak: It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,— God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.

I pointed both my hands toward the east and swept my arms westward. As the night sky appeared to fly by, and the sun raced up the ceiling of purple, brightening it to blue, as clouds sailed over us, scudding along, he slid between my open arms and kissed me.

"Here." He lifted his arm to mine, our hands together, our index fingers pointing up. As one, without saying aloud what we would do, we moved the stars a few minutes westward, then froze. "Look what we can do together," he said. "What did we do?" "We stopped time," he whispered.

Dicen que a lo largo de nuestra vida tenemos dos grandes amores; uno con el que te casas o vives para siempre, puede que el padre o la madre de tus hijos, esa persona con la que consigues la compenetración máxima para estar el resto de tu vida junto a ella. Y dicen que hay un segundo gran amor, una persona que perderás siempre. Alguien con quien naciste conectado, tan conectado que las fuerzas de la química escapan a la razón y te impedirá, siempre, alcanzar un final feliz. Hasta que cierto día dejarás de intentarlo. Te rendirás y buscarás a esa otra persona que acabarás encontrando. Pero te aseguro que no pasarás una sola noche sin necesitar otro beso suyo, o tan siquiera discutir una vez más. Todos sabéis de qué estoy hablando, porque mientras estabais leyendo esto os ha venido su nombre a la cabeza. Te librarás de él o de ella, dejarás de sufrir, conseguirás encontrar la paz (le sustituirás por la calma), pero te aseguro que no pasará un día en que desees que estuviera aquí para perturbarte… Porque, a veces, se desprende más energía discutiendo con alguien a quien amas que haciendo el amor con alguien a quien aprecias.

Stories you read when you're the right age never quite leave you. You may forget who wrote them or what the story was called. Sometimes you'll forget precisely what happened, but if a story touches you it will stay with you, haunting the places in your mind that you rarely ever visit.

I loved her, not for the way she danced with my angels... But for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons.

I admit, I was afraid to love. Not just love, but to love her. For she was a stunning mystery. She carried things deep inside her that no one has yet to understand, and I, I was afraid to fail, like the others. She was the ocean and i was just a boy who loved the waves but was completely terrified to swim.

A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.

The library smells like old books- a thousand leather doorways into other worlds. [...] I hear silence, like the mind of God. I feel a presence in the empty chair beside me. The librarian watches me suspiciously. But the library is a sacred place, and I sit with the patron saint of readers. [...] Pulsing goddess light moves through me for one moment like [...] a glimpse of eternity instantly forgotten. She is gone. I smell mold, I hear the clock ticking, I see an empty chair. Ask me now and I'll say this is just a place where you can't play music or eat. She's gone. The library sucks.

Some days are like this. And the only way to get through them is to remember that they are only one day, and that every day ends.

This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something.