Florine

“There is in us an instinct for newness, for renewal, for a liberation of creative power. We seek to awaken in ourselves a force which really changes our lives from within. And yet the same instinct tells us that this change is a recovery of that which is deepest, most original, most personal in ourselves. To be born again is not to become somebody else, but to become ourselves.”
― Thomas Merton, Choosing to Love the World: On Contemplation

“My observation is that the doers are the major thinkers. The people that really create the things that change this industry are both the thinker and doer in one person. And if we really go back and we examine, you know, did Leonardo have a guy off to the side that was thinking five years out in the future what he would paint or the technology he would use to paint it? Of course not. Leonardo was the artist, but he also mixed all his own paints. He also was a fairly good chemist. He knew about pigments, knew about human anatomy. And combining all of those skills together, the art and the science, the thinking and the doing, was what resulted in the exceptional result. And there is no difference in our industry. The people that have really made the contributions have been the thinkers and the doers.”
― Steve Jobs

“And remember Roscoe: never forget to stand up for yourself. If you don’t, someone will always be ready to put you down.”
― Tom Dumbrell, A Dagger in the Dark

“And what word do you have for me," she whispered.
He regarded her for a long moment before bringing a hand to his chest. Before tapping it against his sternum. Once. Twice. The sign for mine.
Her breath caught. Leaning in close, he pressed a kiss to the pulse beneath her ear. Her body arched instantly into his, like they were strung all together. Twin marionettes, their strings hopelessly twisted.
A creature who walked with the dead and a woman who drew them close. He would never not be caught in her orbit.
"Mine," he said aloud. The word came out serrated.
"Mine." It felt so good to finally say it. His hands slid around her back, and then she was flush against him, her hands twisting in the curls at the nape of his neck, her mouth seeking his in the dark.”
― Kelly Andrew, The Whispering Dark