Apr 18
Also everything returns, but what returns is not what went away—
Louise Gluck, A Travel Diary; Winter Recipes.
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Also everything returns, but what returns is not what went away—
Louise Gluck, A Travel Diary; Winter Recipes.
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the problem with this is that he is actually still cute wtf
He had a very young man's belief in the absolute rightness of his own cause and the absolute wrongness of everyone else's.
Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell
235 Extra-Extra
being an adult doesn’t mean you have to know all the answers.
John and I think on the same literary levels. I love his writing, I love the way he thinks about things. Hank is my go-to for world information. I grew up in what I consider a very sheltered environment.
My parents (in their good will) wanted to protect their children from the shitty world out there. But in doing that, they didn’t prepare their children for the shitty world.
Hank helped me prepare. John helped me prepare.
I’m an adult now, but these brothers helped me understand that being an adult doesn’t mean you have to know all the answers. We’re all trying to figure this out. It’s okay if you think differently, it’s OKAY if you have a different opinion.
These are ideas that were not inserted into my childhood. When I had a different opinion than my mom or dad, it’s was WRONG and IRRELEVANT.
Hank and John opened a community where those words are not tied to anyone’s opinions. I know a few other Nerdfighters in my friend group that these brothers have helped in this way as well.
I owe a lot to Hank and John Green. I know others do as well. These men and their families are an asset to the world, and their presence alone is decreasing my view of worldsuck.
Keep on keeping on, Hank and John. We love you.
- Christina (@aChristinaStory)
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Come to me, Come to me.
Reeds part with a rustle. The sound of something moving is lost in the wind. Scales against the earth, writhing, softly skimming through the dark. Eyes wide and lidless, glaring out into the near blackness of the night. Faeries flee before it, refusing to let it come near them. They sense it, the wrongness of the creature, the twisted feeling that echoes from its heartbeat. Its tongue flickers softly, so softly. Again. Again. Tasting the air, testing the world for prey, for predator, for everything. “Come to me, come to me,” it sings in a hissing whisper. “I am looking for you, little one. Come to me.”
No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.
George Eliot, Daniel Deronda