H.T. Martin > Quotes

“Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I'm only truly alive in the moments between.”
― H.T. Martin

“You are whole today, looking back at fragments of the past. Such a hollow foundation for such a powerful person.”
― H.T. Martin

“What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?”
― H.T. Martin

“She was starmetal bones with kaleidoscope eyes. A cracked framework of unique beauty, a patchwork portrait filled with swirling brush strokes, an amalgamation of delicate light and detailed shatter. I could write a novel about the way she breathes.”
― H.T. Martin

“I love her, but every hug leaves bullet holes in my chest. Every kiss is another scar upon my flesh. Every thrust, every touch, every moan that escapes her lips...they are famine to my soul, and I still can't let her go.”
― H.T. Martin

“It was the end for something. It was the beginning for another. But in reality it just fell in the middle. In that confusing moment of time between my birth and my death.”
― H.T. Martin

“She was a mimicry of a façade fashioned from the half-truths of her life. She was a beautiful abomination, patched together from the most pristine and terrible parts she could find. She was a black crystal of many cuts and facets whose dark glow suffocated and entranced those it washed over. There was a pointlessness in her eyes and apathy in her stature, and further in, past the symphonies of nightmarish screams was a blinding light. All the capability she could ever ask for kept in a place she would never reach. She chose the ice rather than the fire, shivering and hard with heat sparse, for while a flicker can exist in freeze's cold, it's heat will not radiate, no matter how bold. She took my face in hands that would make ice seem warm and whispered a blizzard into my ear, a cascading song of fear after fear. The lies she spilled, mixed with regrets and appeal, were cloaked in the inferno of her rage, the anger, the only thing that really made her real. This was her one semblance of life, a bottomless and endless void of proportions vast with a calamity of fusion and fission streaking through, a mindless hue, an emotion with a face, a darling of her race. The cracks spew darkness from within her ever so pale skin. They congregated on her curves and flesh in black and churning rivers and streams. They flooded every dip with blackness. They filled every hollow with unstable curiosity, this is her release, this is when she is free. The faces of deceit always laugh, they never wallow for their lies are a pleasure tool, her insides are contorted in laughter the same way, just as slick, just as cruel. A crude combination of fascination, of animation, of the darkest demons of them all. She was poetry written in pen, scratched and scribbled again and again. Ink splattered across the page, and within those scrawled words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen, and you're left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean...”
― H.T. Martin

“The flicker, the flutter, even thoughts can stutter.”
― H.T. Martin

“She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again. Ink splattered across the page. And within those scratched words, those small, sharp incisions, an image can be seen and you're left to wonder what, in the end, this all could mean.”
― H.T. Martin

“I always thought time was the most valuable currency, but I realized the people we spent our time on and loved us back, that love held even more meaning to me.”
― H.T. Martin

“Anyone who claims good or evil isn't one or either, they're just a liar... the worst kind of liar... the liar that doesn't even know they're lying. We're human. We're good during the day and evil at night, half the time those roles are reversed, that's what it's all about.”
― H.T. Martin

“I don't know anymore, whether it's a curse or a blessing to see the beauty in the ugly. Growing up simply and getting old complexly. I now see reason behind sin, and love behind pain.”
― H.T. Martin

“She was beauty and intelligence stitched together with no seams
She lived in a world with no difference between reality and dreams
Excellence as habit, she was much more than simple flesh and bone
She walked in the way that forced her presence to be known
If I viewed the world in melody, she is the only one I would see
She could conquer that world in a day and still have time for tea
Soft lips curved in confidence spilling sweetness with every breath
Ideas remaining and growing even after the revolving dance of death
Fingers curled with the power of creation and the ease with which it came
She sat upon a throne as a queen playing the world like a simple game
She was fire, and laughter, and the warmth both of them brought
She made the idea of perfection appear as a simple afterthought
Her body danced with the tidal currents of marvelous desire
She could reach the sky in a day and then push on even higher
She was the best getting better, the absolute antonym of threshold
The words she wrote were gilded, laid heavy with amber glow gold
She was one of very many, and yet, she was the only one of them all
Her taste made my mouth water, her effect hit me harder than alcohol
She was quality, and substance, an actual angel in every way real
Her word was solid, it was a better guarantee than a devil with a deal
She was better than just human, more like power that has taken shape and form
And I the lucky one who holds her close, feels her heartbeat quicken like a storm”
― H.T. Martin

“She was small. Her shadow moved in the dance of chaos before her as the inferno blazed behind her and licked the sky with its many tongues. She clutched an indistinguishable toy with both arms tightly. Her face was serene. Her eyes shone with courage more immense than the surrounding flames. She was small, but at that moment, I've never seen a bigger person.”
― H.T. Martin

“The scribbles in my notebook are a reflection of you. Every line holds your name. Every paragraph a feature of yours I love. Each page is a memory of moments that took my breath away. Of times when I laughed more than my lungs would allow. My notebook is full, but I always knew only one would hardly contain all of you.”
― H.T. Martin

“I think I feel it
The nimble, fleeting emotion
That novels and authors desperately
Try to convey in ink and heart blood
Whose shadow festers in the loins
Of teenagers and their insatiability
The hidden thing none of us can see
Yet we all disagree what it looks like
If only it were love... simple, infinite love
But this was more, this was bloodshot madness.”
― H.T. Martin

“He accepted new ideas as readily as new trends. Knowing those worth it would last and the lessers will pass.”
― H.T. Martin