Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.
Oscar Wilde - The Picture of Dorian Gray.
(via booksfrommyshelf)
I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.
Why are you sad?”
“Because you speak to me in words, and I look at you with feelings.
Write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly and tell it as best you can. I’m not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.
It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.
Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting
I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
It’s just that…I just think that some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic. It’s the universe’s way of providing contrast, you know? There have to be a few holes in the road. It’s how life is.
When I like people immensely I never tell their names to any one. It’s like surrendering a part of them.
John Green writes incredible, honest truths about the secret, weird hearts of human beings. He makes me laugh and gasp at the beauty of a sentence or the twist of a tale. He is one of the best writers alive and I am seething with envy of his talent.
Books. They are lined up on shelves or stacked on a table. There they are wrapped up in there jackets, lines of neat print on nicely bound pages. They look like such orderly, static things. Then you, the reader come along. You open the book jacket, and it can be like opening the gates to an unknown city, or opening the lid of a treasure chest. You read the first word and you’re off on a journey of exploration and discovery.
I don’t know, man; sometimes you just put up with stupid shit when you’re in love. That’s just kinda how it goes. You put up with matters of the heart because you can’t help but fall in love with a person. That’s what makes love a motherfucker. Does that make it better? No. Worse, in fact. Are you happier? Usually not. Are you more satisfied? Always. Love is like pizza and sex: it doesn’t matter if it’s bad, you’ll still have it. And you’ll like it. You’ll be all about it. It’ll consume all of your thoughts. Why? Cause love is needy like that. And you give in. You say yes to it.
Cause love is a motherfucker.
Hey, man; sorry for the rant. Get back to your sandwich. I have a bottle of wine to attend to. Cheers.
The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.
And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.