Read widely, and without apology. Read what you want to read, and not what someone tells you you should read.
Joyce Carol Oates (via bookmania)

Kaledo Art
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Love Begins
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@quote-jot
Read widely, and without apology. Read what you want to read, and not what someone tells you you should read.
Joyce Carol Oates (via bookmania)

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But if she hadnât been such a cracking radio operator and been promoted so quickly, itâs not likely weâd have become friends even in wartime, because British officers donât mingle with the Lower Ranks. (I donât believe it for a minuteâ that we wouldnât have become friends somehowâ that an unexploded bomb wouldnât have gone off and blown us into the same crater, or that God himself wouldnât have come along and knocked our heads together in a flash of green sunlight. But it wouldnât have been likely.)
Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein (via laurenthelibrarian)
I wonder how many piles of paper like mine are lying around Europe, the only testament to our silenced voices, buried in filing cabinets and steamer trunks and cardboard boxes as we disappear - as we vanish into the night and the fog?
Code Name Verity, Elizabeth Wein (via greatpiraticalrumbustification)
Itâs awful, telling it like this, isnât it? As though we didnât know the ending. As though it could have another ending. Itâs like watching Romeo drink poison. Every time you see it you get fooled into thinking his girlfriend might wake up and stop him. Every single time you see it you want to shout, You stupid ass, just wait a minute and sheâll open her eyes! Oi, you, you twat, open your eyes, wake up! Donât die this time! But they always do.
Elizabeth Wein, Code Name Verity (via theinwardsources)
And this, even more wonderful and mysterious, is also true; when I read it, when I read what Julieâs written, she is instantly alive again, whole and undamaged. With her words in my mind while Iâm reading, she is as real as I am. Gloriously daft, drop-dead charming, full of bookish nonsense and foul language, brave and generous. Sheâs right here. Afraid and exhausted, alone, but fighting. Flying in silver moonlight in a plane that canât be landed, stuck in the climb-alive, alive, ALIVE.
Code name Verity by Elizabeth Wein (via quotemybooks)

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But a part of me lies buried in lace and roses on a riverbank in Franceâa part of me is broken off forever. A part of me will always be unflyable, stuck in the climb.
Code Name Verityâ Elizabeth Wein (via oldwordsbest)
I am no longer afraid of getting old. Indeed I canât believe I ever said anything so stupid. So childish. So offensive and arrogant. But mainly, so very, very stupid. I desperately want to grow old.
Elizabeth Wein, Code Name Verity (via quoted-books)
Their eyes met at the same instant moment, Therese glancing up from a box she was opening, and the woman just turning her head so she looked directly at Therese. She was tall and fair, her long figure graceful in the loose fur coat that she held open with a hand on her waist, her eyes were grey, colorless, yet dominant as light or fire, and, caught by them, Therese could not look away. She heard the customer in front of her repeat a question, and Therese stood there, mute. The woman was looking at Therese, too, with a preoccupied expression, as if half her mind were on whatever is was she meant to buy here, and though there were a number of salesgirls between them, There felt sure the woman would come to her, Then, Then Therese saw her walk slowly towards the counter, heard her heart stumble to catch up with the moment it had let pass, and felt her face grow hot as the woman came nearer and nearer.
Patricia Highsmith, Carol  [Formerly: The Price of Salt]
Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh. She had a vision of a pale-white flower, shimmering as if seen in darkness, or through water. Why did people talk of heaven, she wondered.
Patricia Highsmith, Carol [Formerly: The Price of Salt]Â
Whoever named Himmel Street certainly had a healthy sense of irony. Not that it was a living hell. It wasnât. But it sure as hell wasnât heaven, either.
Death, The Book Thief [Markus Zusak] (via inquisitorshepardcommander)

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He was still too young to know that the heartâs memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.
Gabriel GarcĂÂa MĂĄrquez, Love in the Time of Cholera (via yesthatbookishnol)
Thatâs the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.
Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner (via bookmania)
Writers donât write from experience, though many are resistant to admit that they donât. I want to be clear about this. If you wrote from experience, youâd get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy.
Nikki Giovanni (via amandaonwriting)
Five minutes before Julian arrived, they might be slouched in the living room -- curtains drawn, dinner simmering on chafing dishes in the kitchen, everyone tugging at collars and dull-eyed with fatigue -- but the instant the doorbell rang their spines would straighten, conversation would snap to life, the very wrinkles would fall from their clothes.
Donna Tartt, The Secret History
There was a horrible, erratic thumping in my chest, as if a large bird was trapped inside my ribcage and beating itself to death.
Donna Tartt, The Secret History

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I looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.
Jonathan Safron Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via thatkindofwoman)
Robert Frost