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“What you are now is not what you’ve always been, nor is it what you always will be. You are a snake. Shed your skin if it no longer serves you. Transform into something different. Something better.”
― Blood & Honey
― Blood & Honey
“And when wine has soaked Cupid’s drunken wings,
he’s stayed, weighed down, a captive of the place.
...
Wine rouses courage and is fit for passion:
care flies, and deep drinking dilutes it.
...
Don’t trust the treacherous lamplight overmuch:
night and wine can harm your view of beauty.
Paris saw the goddesses in the light, a cloudless heaven,
when he said to Venus: ‘Venus, you win, over them both.’
Faults are hidden at night: every blemish is forgiven,
and the hour makes whichever girl you like beautiful.
Judge jewellery, and fabric stained with purple,
judge a face, or a figure, in the light.”
― The Art of Love
he’s stayed, weighed down, a captive of the place.
...
Wine rouses courage and is fit for passion:
care flies, and deep drinking dilutes it.
...
Don’t trust the treacherous lamplight overmuch:
night and wine can harm your view of beauty.
Paris saw the goddesses in the light, a cloudless heaven,
when he said to Venus: ‘Venus, you win, over them both.’
Faults are hidden at night: every blemish is forgiven,
and the hour makes whichever girl you like beautiful.
Judge jewellery, and fabric stained with purple,
judge a face, or a figure, in the light.”
― The Art of Love
“when a person brings you more hurt than happiness, you’re allowed to let them go.”
― Blood & Honey
― Blood & Honey
“How old are you?” I asked again, louder this time.
“Very old.”
Odd, indeed. I stared at him. “ What are you?”
He chuckled, his eyes cutting to mine. “I simply . . . am.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Of course it is. Why must I bind myself to fit your expectations?”
― Blood & Honey
“Very old.”
Odd, indeed. I stared at him. “ What are you?”
He chuckled, his eyes cutting to mine. “I simply . . . am.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Of course it is. Why must I bind myself to fit your expectations?”
― Blood & Honey
“You don't share a language, you think, and then you realise, grief is a language. We understand each other, people with troubled pasts.”
― The Island of Missing Trees
― The Island of Missing Trees
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