Clemente Eggins

“Black once tried to tackle a Humvee head-on. This was worse”
― William Kely McClung, Black Fire

“attempting to write yourself as a protagonist in the life of someone else is psychotically narcissistic.”
― Malcolm Collins, The Pragmatist’s Guide to Life: A Guide to Creating Your Own Answers to Life’s Biggest Questions

“Mrs. O’Dowd, the good housewife, arrayed in curl papers and a camisole, felt that her duty was to act, and not to sleep, at this juncture. “Time enough for that,” she said, “when Mick’s gone”; and so she packed his travelling valise ready for the march, brushed his cloak, his cap, and other warlike habiliments, set them out in order for him; and stowed away in the cloak pockets a light package of portable refreshments, and a wicker-covered flask or pocket-pistol, containing near a pint of a remarkably sound Cognac brandy, of which she and the Major approved very much; ... Mrs. O’Dowd woke up her Major, and had as comfortable a cup of coffee prepared for him as any made that morning in Brussels. And who is there will deny that this worthy lady’s preparations betokened affection as much as the fits of tears and hysterics by which more sensitive females exhibited their love, and that their partaking of this coffee, which they drank together while the bugles were sounding the turn-out and the drums beating in the various quarters of the town, was not more useful and to the purpose than the outpouring of any mere sentiment could be? The consequence was, that the Major appeared on parade quite trim, fresh, and alert, his well-shaved rosy countenance, as he sate on horseback, giving cheerfulness and confidence to the whole corps. All the officers saluted her when the regiment marched by the balcony on which this brave woman stood, and waved them a cheer as they passed; and I daresay it was not from want of courage, but from a sense of female delicacy and propriety, that she refrained from leading the gallant--personally into action.”
― William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

“Levamos para o casamento uma infinidade de expectativas ro- mânticas. As vezes, também visões de míticos êxtases sexuais. E impomos à nossa vida sexual muitas outras expectativas, muitos outros "devia ser", que o ato quotidiano do amor não consegue realizar. A terra devia tremer. Nossos ossos deviam cantar. Fogos de artifício deviam explodir. O ser consciente — o eu — devia ser queimado na pira do amor. Devíamos alcançar o paraíso, ou um fac-símile razoável. Nós nos desapontamos.”
― Judith Viorst, Necessary Losses: The Loves, Illusions, Dependencies, and Impossible Expectations That All of Us Have to Give Up in Order to Grow