I had a dove and the sweet dove died; / And I have thought it died of grieving: / O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, / With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving; / Sweet little red feet! why should you die-- / Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why? / You liv'd alone in the forest-tree, / Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? / I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; / Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?
every single person you know has something in their life and past that is probably worth collapsing to the ground in an uncontrollably sobbing heap over, so be nice to each other and tell good jokes
elementary school was like “hell yeah”. middle school was like “hell no”. and high school. high school is just “hell”
college is just “what the hell”
In college, we don’t say “I love you”, we say “I have 5 essays, two finals, and 3 group projects due in the next 8 days” which translates to “I would like to be crushed by a train” and I think that’s pretty cool.
But he that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose.
There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored. The reader of today looks for this motion, and rightly so, but what he has forgotten is the cost of it. His sense of evil is diluted or lacking altogether, and so he has forgotten the price of restoration. When he reads a novel, he wants either his sense tormented or his spirits raised. He wants to be transported, instantly, either to mock damnation or a mock innocence.
~ Flannery O’Connor; Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose
And I can’t stand the weather, no I never liked the rain / We drink on the job then we go home early / And I remember she used to look so good in that dress / Now she just screams how I promised her more than this / Take it easy baby, it ain’t over yet
~ "National Anthem," The Gaslight Anthem
When you’ve suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling.
~ Life of Pi, Yann Martel
It was less humiliating to admit crying because of your feet than because—because somebody had been amusing himself with you and your friends had forgotten you, and other people patronised you.
~ Rilla of Ingleside, L.M. Montgomery
Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding … if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?
~ Anne of Avonlea, L.M. Montgomery