If we don’t write our stories, how will we truly know who we are? How will we define the world? How will we touch the mysteries of life?
What would it be like if i thought i was prettywhat would it be like if i carried that knowledge aroundlike i do the knowledge that i am a writerpretty like peonies pretty like satin pretty like the c...
What happens to the rest of something when you smash its heart?
At least the girls in stories were alive before they died.
Baby, I love you. Pen... More then I love the color black. More than I love cigarettes, more than I love books. Even music.More than food. More than art or stories. More than words...
The next night I went back to the sea dressed in 1950s silk travel scarves – Paris with the Eiffel tower and ladies in hats and pink poodles, Venice with bronze horses and gondoliers, New York in cele...
Beauty loved him more than anything, her Beast boy, but, secretly, sometimes, she wished he would have remained a Beast.
I can arrange words on a page but I can't seem to organize books on a shelf. Over the years, My Secret has shelved thousands and thousands, held each one in his hands. He thinks they might have seeped...
Tinys do not deserve safety. If they are to prove themselves, they must suffer and die or suffer and survive.
Valentinemy friends stitched it up with golden threadlike a redsatin pillow they gave me other whole ones tooroses and charms and red candlesmilagros to repair the real onethey told me i was no longer...
One of the best things about sex with a Banshee, however, is that she will make her needs known freely.
Why was fabulousness important? The world was a scary, sad place and adornment was one of the only ways she knew to make herself and the people around her forget their troubles. That was why she had o...
This was not a fearie tale. This was not the movies. This was life. It hurt more. It was excruciating. It was excruciatingly beautiful.
Even in darkness your lips taste of sunshine
Weetzie could see him--it was a man, a little man in a turban, with a jewel in his nose, harem pants, and curly-toed slippers. Lanky Lizards! Weetzie exclaimed.Greetings, said the man in an odd voice,...
Like prettywhat would it be like if i thought i was prettywhat would it be like if i carried that knowledge aroundlike i do the knowledge that i am a writerpretty like peonies pretty like satin pretty...
He said that black sheeps express everyone else's anger and pain. It's not that they have all the anger and pain-they're just the only ones who let it out. Then the other people don't have to.
He smells like night-blooming flowersCrushed, juicy petals on the pillowsHis voice is full of oceanHumming like the surfHe kneels before me like I am his goddessHe is a god
No matter how bad things get, you can always see the beauty in them. The worse things get, the more you have to make yourself see the magic in order to survive.
Hopefully, when you are young, you discover something called love, which is really just another name for going home.
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