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melinda
https://www.goodreads.com/wispofsilk
In sheer numerical terms, in brute numbers of bodies and property destroyed, there is absolutely nothing to compare between what Zionism has done to Palestinians and what, in retaliation, Palestinians have done to Zionists.
“Tell them that you weren't hungry, tell them you followed the pomegranates seeds because hey tasted like blood, like love.”
― The Closed Doors
― The Closed Doors
“He stands apart with Patroclus, his beloved through all eternity, and Patroclus - who loves Achilles but not as much as he is loved - waits for Achilles to move. His deference to Achilles is different from that of others, They honour and respect him, keep a wise distance, because Achilles was better than the rest. Better at being human. Fighting, singing, speaking, raging (oh, he is good at that still). Killing. But Patroclus alone is humbled by Achilles' love. Only a fool thinks that to be more loved than loving gives you power. Only a fool vaunts it and displays his own littleness by bragging to his friends and making capricious demands of his lover. Patroclus isn't a fool. He knows that he is less than Achilles even in this. Humbled by the intensity of Achilles' love he loves him back with all his large, though lesser, heart.”
― Achilles
― Achilles
“I don't do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.”
― The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice: First Journals and Poems, 1937-1952
― The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice: First Journals and Poems, 1937-1952
“I have always been tormented by the image of multiplicity of selves. Some days I call it richness, and other days I see it as a disease, a proliferation as dangerous as cancer. My first concept about people around me was that all of them were coordinated into a WHOLE, whereas I was made up of a multitude of selves, of fragments.”
― The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
― The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934
“Being the only female in what was basically a boys’ club must have been difficult for her. Miraculously, she didn’t compensate by becoming hard or quarrelsome. She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze. But strange and marvelous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was not the fragile creature one would have her seem.”
― The Secret History
― The Secret History
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