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Embers of the Han...
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"i usually wait till im closer to 20% before adding a book here but the prologue is so beautifully written i had to share" Jul 23, 2026 02:11AM

 
The Magician
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Jul 18, 2026 12:54PM

 
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Stephen Chbosky
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.”
Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Philip Larkin
“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.”
Philip Larkin, High Windows

Dorothy Parker
“The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.”
Dorothy Parker

Allen Ginsberg
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of the night.”
Allen Ginsberg, Howl, Kaddish and Other Poems

Sylvia Plath
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

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