We essentially spoke our own language, and now English seems so depressing and unimaginative.
“He has built a pedestal for her so tall that she is afraid to be lifted atop it, because to fall would mean certain death. But oh, she would rise far, far beyond fear and be held by arms so strong, and love so pure that falling would not be an option.” — Ellen Hopkins
How strange it is to be anything at all…
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.” — Sylvia Plath
Happy Mother's Day.
She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees - my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath - a source of little visible delight, but necessary.” —Emily Bronte
I know he is the perpetrator of atrocious crimes. Regardless, I cannot celebrate the death of a lost soul…