"I’m good at loving books. I’m good at loving soft bed sheets. I’m good at loving coffees and teas. I am good at loving things that can’t love me back, that don’t have the power to leave. And maybe, that’s why I love them."
tryna cheer up a friend whom you really adore is so hard its like trying to convince the sun of its own warmth
"Sometimes your heart needs more time to accept what your mind already knows."
"If you don’t like where you are, move on. You are not a tree."
"The world will knock you down plenty. You don’t need to be doing it to yourself."
"The trick, kiddo,” his mom replies slowly. “Is finding someone who complements you instead of completes you. You need to be complete on your own."
"When my absence doesn’t alter your life, then my presence has no meaning in it."
"Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your own unguarded thoughts."
"People wait all week for Friday, all year for summer, all life for happiness"
"The “what ifs” and “should haves” will eat your brain."
"It was like the second when you come home late at night and see the yellow envelope of the telegram sticking out from under your door and you lean and pick it up, but don’t open it yet, not for a second. While you stand there in the hall, with the envelope in your hand, you feel there’s an eye on you, a great big eye looking straight at you from miles and dark and through walls and houses and through your coat and vest and hide and sees you huddled up way inside, in the dark which is you, inside yourself, like a clammy, sad little foetus you carry around inside yourself. The eye knows what’s in the envelope, and it is watching you to see you when you open it and know, too. But the clammy, sad little foetus which is you way down in the dark which is you too lifts up its sad little face and its eyes are blind, and it shivers cold inside you for it doesn’t want to know what is in that envelope. It wants to lie in the dark and not know, and be warm in its not-knowing. The end of man is knowledge, but there is one thing he can’t know. He can’t know whether knowledge will save him or kill him. He will be killed, all right, but he can’t know whether he is killed because of the knowledge which he has got or because of the knowledge which he hasn’t got and which if he had it, would save him. There’s the cold in your stomach, but you open the envelope, you have to open the envelope, for the end of man is to know."
Robert Penn Warren, All the King’s Men, describing a moment you either have known or someday will. Or, God help us, both.
"Young writers should read books past bedtime and write things down in notebooks when they are supposed to be doing something else."
"I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to done, not a background to thought."
Jeanette Winterson, Why I adore the night
"But how could you live and have no story to tell?"