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T.H. White
“If I were to be made a knight," said the Wart, staring dreamily into the fire, "I should insist on doing my vigil by myself, as Hob does with his hawks, and I should pray to God to let me encounter all the evil in the world in my own person, so that if I conquered there would be none left, and, if I were defeated, I would be the one to suffer for it."

"That would be extremely presumptuous of you," said Merlyn, "and you would be conquered, and you would suffer for it."

"I shouldn't mind."

"Wouldn't you? Wait till it happens and see."

"Why do people not think, when they are grown up, as I do when I am young?"

"Oh dear," said Merlyn. '"You are making me feel confused. Suppose you wait till you are grown up and know the reason?"

"I don't think that is an answer at all," replied the Wart, justly.

Merlyn wrung his hands.

"Well, anyway," he said, "suppose they did not let you stand against all the evil in the world?"

"I could ask," said the Wart.

"You could ask," repeated Merlyn.

He thrust the end of his beard into his mouth, stared tragically into the fire, and began to munch it fiercely.”
T.H. White, The Once and Future King

Silvina Ocampo
“What matters is what we write: that is what we are, not some puppet made up by those who talk and enclose us in a prison so different from our dreams.”
Silvina Ocampo, Thus Were Their Faces

Dorothy L. Sayers
“I suppose one oughtn’t to marry anybody, unless one’s prepared to make him a full-time job.”
“Probably not; though there are a few rare people, I believe, who don’t look on themselves as jobs but as fellow creatures.”
Dorothy L. Sayers, Gaudy Night

Virginia Woolf
“Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice? So that all this chatter and praise and blame and meeting people who admired one and did not admire one was as ill suited as could be to the thing itself—a voice answering a voice. What could have been more secret, she thought, more slow, and like the intercourse of lovers, than the stammering answer she had made all these years to the old crooning song of the woods, and the farms and the brown horses standing at the gate, neck to neck, and the smithy and the kitchen and the fields, so laboriously bearing wheat, turnips, grass, and the garden blowing irises and fritillaries?”
Virginia Woolf, Orlando

year in books
sassafrass
1,373 books | 79 friends

fish
70 books | 18 friends

Cait
2,472 books | 205 friends

Sidonie
1,245 books | 22 friends

takeeve...
2,854 books | 30 friends

this_eel
576 books | 48 friends

Emily
468 books | 3 friends

dathomira
1,302 books | 48 friends

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