He realized, when he was back in his room, that they hadn’t even kissed. He also realized, with horror, that he regretted that.
“It was hard to remember in the heavy and sensual clarity of these mornings; I forgot whom I hated and who hated me. I wanted to break out crying from stabs of hopeless joy, or intolerable promise, or because these mornings were too full of beauty for me, because I knew of too much hate to be contained in a world like this.”
― A Separate Peace
― A Separate Peace
“Jem gave her a wistful look. “Must you go? I was rather hoping that you’d stay and be a ministering angel, but if you must go, you must.”
“I’ll stay,” Will said a bit crossly, and threw himself down in the armchair Tessa had just vacated. “I can minister angelically.”
“None too convincingly. And you’re not as pretty to look at as Tessa is,” Jem said, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the pillow.
“How rude. Many who have gazed upon me have compared it to gazing at the radiance of the sun.”
Jem still had his eyes closed. “If they mean that it gives you a headache, they aren’t wrong.”
― Clockwork Angel
“I’ll stay,” Will said a bit crossly, and threw himself down in the armchair Tessa had just vacated. “I can minister angelically.”
“None too convincingly. And you’re not as pretty to look at as Tessa is,” Jem said, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the pillow.
“How rude. Many who have gazed upon me have compared it to gazing at the radiance of the sun.”
Jem still had his eyes closed. “If they mean that it gives you a headache, they aren’t wrong.”
― Clockwork Angel
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”
―
―
“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.”
― 1984
― 1984
“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.”
― The Metamorphosis
― The Metamorphosis
Mazzy’s 2025 Year in Books
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