Jala

“It’s dusk, dearest. (In passing, isn’t ‘dusk’ a lovely word? I like it better than twilight. It sounds so velvety and shadowy and—and—dusky.) In daylight I belong to the world; in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I’m free from both and belong only to myself—and you. — L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars (Oxford City Press, 2012)(via luthienne)”
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars

“I now know thee, thou clear spirit, and I now know that thy right worship is defiance. To neither love nor reverence wilt thou be kind; and e'en for hate thou canst but kill; and all are killed. No fearless fool now fronts thee. I own thy speechless, placeless power; but to the last gasp of my earthquake life will dispute its unconditional, unintegral mastery in me. In the midst of the personified impersonal, a personality stands here. Though but a point at best; whencesoe'er I came; wheresoe'er I go; yet while I earthly live, the queenly personality lives in me, and feels her royal rights. But war is pain, and hate is woe. Come in thy lowest form of love, and I will kneel and kiss thee; but at thy highest, come as mere supernal power; and though thou launchest navies of full-freighted worlds, there's that in here that still remains indifferent. Oh, thou clear spirit, of thy fire thou madest me, and like a true child of fire, I breathe it back to thee.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or, The Whale

“They abolish the external form, they suppress the formal sales of slaves, and then they imagine and assure others that slavery is abolished. They are unwilling to see that it still exists, since people, as before, like to profit by the labor of others, and think it good and just. This being given, there will always be found beings stronger or more cunning than others to profit thereby. The same thing happens in the emancipation of woman. At bottom feminine servitude consists entirely in her assimilation with a means of pleasure. They excite woman, they give her all sorts of rights equal to those of men, but they continue to look upon her as an object of sensual desire, and thus they bring her up from infancy and in public opinion.”
― Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata

“Sanki beynimin üstündeki kemik kapağı kaldırmışlar ve savunmasız, çırılçıplak kalan beyin boyun eğerek kana kana içine çekiyor bu kanlı ve çılgın günlerin tüm dehşetini. Tortop büzülmüş yatıyorum, tüm bedenim hepi topu iki arşınlık alan kaplarken düşüncem dünyayı kucaklıyor. Tüm insanların gözleriyle görüyor, kulaklarıyla duyuyorum; ölenlerle ölüyorum; yaralananlar ve unutulanlarla kederlenip ağlıyorum ve bir bedenden kan fışkırdığında yaraların acısını hissediyor, ıstırap çekiyorum. Olmayanı ve uzaktakini, tıpkı olan ve yakındaki kadar net görüyorum, çırılçıplak kalan beynimin ıstırabının bir sınırı yok.”
― Leonid Andreyev, The Red Laugh