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Shadowhunter Week | Day Six ā Favorite Villain | Sebastian MorgensternĀ
I never existed at all. Heavenly fire burns away that which is evil. Jace survived GloriousĀ because he is good. There was enough of him left to live. But I was born to be all corruption. There is not enough left of me to survive. You see the ghost of someone who could have been, that is all.Ā
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Shadowhunter Week | Day Six ā Favorite Villain | Sebastian MorgensternĀ
I never existed at all. Heavenly fire burns away that which is evil. Jace survived GloriousĀ because he is good. There was enough of him left to live. But I was born to be all corruption. There is not enough left of me to survive. You see the ghost of someone who could have been, that is all.Ā
I want you to be weak. As weak as I am.
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being (via klytemnestre)
Skim Not
I pity those who wish time away
Who itch to skim quick through precious pages of the pain, tears, hard work, struggle, sacrifice and bitter moments so that they can sooner engorge themselves in those moments that are pure bliss, overwhelming pleasure that brings those beautiful tears to sparkling eyes, not the sad ones that are kept hidden in the darkness of a lonely room far away.
And once those tiny pieces of perfection have passed, the chapter has ended and now are onto searching between the lines for the next high moment in life not wanting to experience anything less of that.
Oh how I am guilty of this when I wrap myself in my favorite adventures, but oh how it hits you when you realize you are doing it in the midst of your own story.
Those few and far between rapturous moments you so eagerly focused on, burning away life faster then you realize, until the final pages are pinched between your fingertips and it hits you like ice water being dumped over your head, constricting the vessels in your body as you realize, this is it. You've burned down the sand in the hourglass.
The end of a story is inevitable and when asked to summarize it, who doesn't want to include the pages that created the paragraphs that captured hearts.
Your memory is a child I am trying to lose in a grocery store.
From āBiography of Mothersā by Sarah LeWarn, published in Volume Three of Winter Tangerine Review (via thekidshouse)
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I kept trying to find out it wasnāt true, but it kept being true.
Anne Sexton, from An Accident of Hope: The Therapy Tapes of Anne Sexton (via queerfeministarab)
I no longer have the slightest notion about what I thought I knew or expected to see again.
Marguerite Duras, from Thatās All (via violentwavesofemotion)
I swear, I end up feeling empty, like youāve taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.
Richard Siken, Crush (via sunst0ne)
When he explains how he cannot love you, that he will never be yours alone, when he tells how the meek and the gluttons, the tempted, the proud are his angels - do not mourn. Smile. Feed him. Wash his hair. He is a king among thieves. The leeches will hollow his skin, the crows, reduce him to bones. His own heart will empty him. Allow for the bleed. Be ready with tourniquet and prayer. In the dry burn of dawn, after the last of the lashes, the thors and the spittle, when his limp body is laid at your feet, remember the night he loved you. The ember of his eyes and the way the words came like honey. You were made for this.
Jeanann Verlee (via rarararambles)
Donāt ever think I fell for you, or fell over you. I didnāt fall in love, I rose in it. I saw you and made up my mind.
Toni Morrison, Jazz (via wordsnquotes)
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A good mixture of nothing and everything is eating up my head alive.
Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters (via hellanne)
like there is only days to the Tales of The Shadowhunter Academy and today is Valentineās Day here you go a sizzy hug because i canāt get enough of them *O*
Two days to TSFA!
Iām hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.
Richard Siken, Wishbone (via splitterherzen)
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Jerome Siempre tattoo Niedernai
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You are forever swinging between this being and another, one being and another. There is a word for it crawling in your mouth each night. Speak it.
Carolyn ForchĆ©, from āAncapagari,ā Gathering the Tribes (Yale University Press, 1976)
