Mos Deprez

“ONCE UPON A time, there was a king who had three beautiful daughters. He loved each of them dearly. One day, when the young ladies were of age to be married, a terrible, three-headed dragon laid siege to the kingdom, burning villages with fiery breath. It spoiled crops and burned churches. It killed babies, old people, and everyone in between.

The king promised a princess’s hand in marriage to whoever slayed the dragon. Heroes and warriors came in suits of armor, riding brave horses and bearing swords and arrows.

One by one, these men were slaughtered and eaten.

Finally the king reasoned that a maiden might melt the dragon’s heart and succeed where warriors had failed. He sent his eldest daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, but the dragon listened to not a word of her pleas. It swallowed her whole.

Then the king sent his second daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, but the dragon did the same. Swallowed her before she could get a word out.

The king then sent his youngest daughter to beg the dragon for mercy, and she was so lovely and clever that he was sure she would succeed where the others had perished.

No indeed. The dragon simply ate her.

The king was left aching with regret. He was now alone in the world.

Now, let me ask you this. Who killed the girls?

The dragon? Or their father?”
― E. Lockhart, We Were Liars

“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Het huis vertegenwoordigde zijn gouden eeuw, toen alles fris en ongerept was, eer hij de wereld had veroverd en tot de ontdekking kwam, dat de verovering wederkerig was , dat het er veelal meer op leek dat de wereld hem veroverd had. Telkens wanneer de ironie van deze paradox zsich sterk genoeg aan hem opdrong, was hij bereid om al het mogelijke te ondernemen,dat in staat leek hem naar zijn gouden eeuw terug te leiden.”
― Francoise Gilotová, Carlton Lake, Žila som s Picassom

“May gales and anguish sweep elsewhere
The killer of my character
But I am hardly some backbitter bent
On vengence but; no, my heart is lenient”
― Sappho, Come Close