About all I could think of were those two nuns that went around collecting dough in those beat-up old straw baskets

"You don’t like anything that’s happening."

It made me even more depressed when she said that.

"Yes I do. Yes I do. Sure I do. Don’t say that. Why the hell do you say that?"

"Because you don’t. You don’t like any schools. You don’t like a million things. You don’t.”

"I do! That’s where you’re wrong—that’s exactly where you’re wrong! Why the hell do you have to say that?" I said. Boy, was she depressing me.

"Because you don’t," she said. "Name one thing."

"One thing? One thing I like?" I said. "Okay."

The trouble was, I couldn’t concentrate too hot. Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate.

"One thing I like a lot you mean?" I asked her.

….”You can’t even think of one thing.”

"Yes, I can. Yes, I can."

"Well, do it, then."

"I like Allie," I said. "And I like doing what I’m doing right now. Sitting here with you, and talking, and thinking about stuff, and—"

"Allie’s dead—You always say that! If somebody’s dead and everything, and in Heaven, then it isn’t really—"

"I know he’s dead! Don’t you think I know that? I can still like him, though, can’t I? Just because somebody’s dead, you don’t just stop liking them, for God’s sake—especially if they were about a thousand times nicer than the people you know that’re alive and all."

Old Phoebe didn’t say anything. When she can’t think of anything to say, she doesn’t say a goddam word.

"Anyway, I like it now," I said. "I mean right now. Sitting here with you and just chewing the fat and horsing—"

"That isn’t anything really!"

"It is so something really! Certainly it is! Why the hell isn’t it? People never think anything is anything really. I’m getting goddam sick of it,"

With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to that truth by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two. I say two, because the state of my own knowledge does not pass beyond that point. Others will follow, others will outstrip me on the same lines; and I hazard the guess that man will be ultimately known for a mere polity of multifarious, incongruous and independent denizens. Robert Louis Stevenson, Dr Jekyll & Mr. Hyde
The Germans believed his name was related to Lohe, Loge, Logi, flame and fire. He was also known as Loptr, the god of the air. Later Christian writers amalgamated him with Lucifer, Lukifer, the light-bearer, the fallen Son of the Morning, the adversary. He was beautiful, that was always affirmed, but his beauty was hard to fix or to see, for he was always glimmering, flickering, melting, mixing, he was the shape of a shapeless flame, he was the eddying thread of needle-shapes in the shapeless mass of the waterfall. He was the invisible wind that hurried the clouds in billows and ribbons. You could see a bare tree on the skyline bent by the wind, holding up twisted branches and bent twigs, and suddenly its formless form would resolve itself into that of the trickster.

-AS Byatt, Ragnarok: The End of the Gods, “Homo Homini Lupus Est” (via princessmeanypants)

OMG J If you haven’t read that (I forget if you did!) you need to do so IMMEDIATELY, it was fucking awesome. Loki and Jörmungandr in particular.

Cite Arrow reblogged from cryingneedforthat
I was a writer, even more importantly, a writer between books…. Blood Will Out

"God sees everything," repeated Wilson.

"That’s an advertisement," Michaelis assured him.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
So far as she could tell, the main difference in her intellect produced by one-quarter of a liberal arts education was the eruption of a mad ability to see several sides to every question. Pamela Dean, Tam Lin
….her face was so lovely, that when in the common cant of praise, she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less violently outraged than usually happens….and in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness, which could hardily be seen without delight. Sense and Sensibility
Mortal fear is as crucial a thing to our lives as love. It cuts to the core of our being and shows us what we are. Will you step back and cover your eyes? Or will you have the strength to walk to the precipice and look out? Night Film, Marisha Pessl
He was not an unhappy man. He was certainly in (pain)….But he had escaped to another dimension where pain had no power over him. He had escaped into his work. Rebecca West, A Train of Powder
'Yes, I abased myself at her feet. Do you want her shoe size?' Russell Hoban, Angelica’s Grotto