Erin
https://www.goodreads.com/eron789
Erin
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"“Gelon heads straight for Homer’s chair … It’s stuck in the corner, a bronze inscription above that reads, ‘Homer’s chair’. Is it Homer’s chair? Well, there are many Homer’s chairs scattered across Syracuse, and can they all be Homer’s chair? Why not? The arse is capricious and does not wed for life, and so perhaps, yeah, it is Homer’s chair.”" — Feb 15, 2026 09:52PM
"“Gelon heads straight for Homer’s chair … It’s stuck in the corner, a bronze inscription above that reads, ‘Homer’s chair’. Is it Homer’s chair? Well, there are many Homer’s chairs scattered across Syracuse, and can they all be Homer’s chair? Why not? The arse is capricious and does not wed for life, and so perhaps, yeah, it is Homer’s chair.”" — Feb 15, 2026 09:52PM
“I have of late—but wherefore
I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of
exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my
disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to
me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy,
the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament,
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why,
it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent
congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man!
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties,
in form and moving how express and admirable,
in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man
delights not me—no, nor woman neither, though by
your smiling you seem to say so.”
― Hamlet
I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of
exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my
disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to
me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy,
the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament,
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why,
it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent
congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man!
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties,
in form and moving how express and admirable,
in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man
delights not me—no, nor woman neither, though by
your smiling you seem to say so.”
― Hamlet
“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”
― Frankenstein
― Frankenstein
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