Flávia

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Adiós fantasmas
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  (page 62 of 224)
"No sé yo si voy a poder terminarlo..." Oct 06, 2025 03:41AM

 
S. El barco de Teseo
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Onyx Storm
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by Rebecca Yarros (Goodreads Author)
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Lloyd Alexander
“Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it.”
Lloyd Alexander

“So, kid, you’ve got to live,
and not just that stoic existence you’ve
been stomping trough all this time.
You’ve got to be kind,
you’ve got to fall in love,
fall out of love,
no matter how much it hurts
because my god,
it’s worth it.
Don’t let the world turn you to stone;
you’ve got to feel.
And sometimes,
your heart will threaten
to march right out of your chest
because you’re so fucking full of it all-
of the people,
the places,
the endless days,
the eternal nights-
and kid, that’s fine.
Be brave.
Courage isn’t measured by the
number of people you’ve turned away
or by the counts of the nights you’ve
spent alone because you refuse to
give someone the chance to love you.
Being alone is not poetic;
you’ve got to let them in.
Let them peel back your skin
and waltz into your bloodstream
and love them,
love them,
love them.

And finally, kid,
your life has already begun.
Stop waiting.
Chaos is already underway.”
Emily Palermo

Vincent van Gogh
“And the memories of all we have loved stay and come back to us in the evening of our life. They are not dead but sleep, and it is well to gather a treasure of them.”
Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh
“Well, what shall I say; our inward thoughts, do they ever show outwardly? There may be a great fire in our soul, but no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a little bit of smoke coming through the chimney, and pass on their way.”
Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh
“There is a great difference between one idler and another idler. There is someone who is an idler out of laziness and lack of character, owing to the baseness of his nature. If you like, you may take me for one of those. Then there is the other kind of idler, the idler despite himself, who is inwardly consumed by a great longing for action who does nothing because his hands are tied, because he is, so to speak, imprisoned somewhere, because he lacks what he needs to be productive, because disastrous circumstances have brought him forcibly to this end. Such a one does not always know what he can do, but he nevertheless instinctively feels, I am good for something! My existence is not without reason! I know that I could be a quite a different person! How can I be of use, how can I be of service? There is something inside me, but what can it be? He is quite another idler. If you like you may take me for one of those.”
Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

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