#books18

              I am made of memories. This and this and this.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

She tries to take a step down the hall, but I tug on her hand and kiss her again, and this time it’s not a peck. I kiss her hard, losing myself in her taste and her heat and every damn thing about her. I never expected her. Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don’t know you ever lived without them.

Books of ‘18 >> The Last Viking: The Life of Roald Amundsen Stephen R. Bown

Before that she hadn’t realized how fragile happiness was, how if you were careless, you could knock it over and shatter it.

Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.

This is what love does: It makes you want to rewrite the world. It makes you want to choose the characters, build the scenery, guide the plot. The person you love sits across from you, and you want to do everything in your power to make it possible, endlessly possible. And when it’s just the two of you, alone in a room, you can pretend that this is how it is, this is how it will be.

Golden Hill - Francis Spufford