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if god wanted me to give you up, he wouldn't have made me who i am. mybookmybookmybook

i do really like these books, but the way information is given (or, actually, the way it isn't given) is fucking infuriating

y'all what the hell

esse livro é incrível, clarice foi uma das melhores escritoras que já viveu, sem dúvidas. mas o maior achado que esse livro me deu é que ela era uma fofa.

eu disse a uma amiga:
- a vida sempre superexigiu de mim.
ela disse:
- mas lembre-se de que você também superexige da vida.
sim.

and yet nothing had changed since the moments when he had been kissing her ; or rather, nothing in the substance of things. but the essence of things had changed. I'M GONNA KILL MYSELF

as tess's own people down in those retreats are never tired of saying among each other in their fatalistic way: 'it was to be.' there lay the pity of it. i'm so sad

this is literally the juiciest most fun book i've ever read. idk what charlotte dacre was smoking to come up w this shit but i need to get on it

because the culmination of every relationship is separation. it's death. every relationship is just practice for parting.

sometimes, i say, i don't think i can deal with other people at all. it's as if all i can see in the world is myself.

and i felt myself flow toward him, as a river rushes when the ice breaks up.

in the course of that long afternoon, while his temperature was climbing, he found himself thinking that the best part of his existence was ivana and all that surrounded her. no other source gave him that vital something which made him more intelligent, less ordinary and stronger.

why with him is it like this, she wonders. the touch of his hands to her body, his voice when he speaks, his particular looks and gestures. parting her lips she tastes the salt wet of his tongue. feels his hand in her hair. the miracle of existing completely together in this way for even one moment on god's earth, she thinks. if never again in her life with another, only to be here now, with him.

he’s not the same anxious, repressed person he was in school, when his attraction to her felt terrifying, like an oncoming train, and he threw her under it.

for nick you're probably indistinguishable from happiness. i don't doubt that he considers you the great love of his adult life.

what if the meaning of life on earth is not eternal progress toward some unspecified goal — the engineering and production of more and more powerful technologies, the development of more and more complex and abstruse cultural forms? what if these things just rise and recede naturally, like tides, while the meaning of life remains the same always — just to live and be with other people?

thought rereading this would fix me but it's actually making me worse. this is the best book ever written, by the way.

how strange that this was like that—that the most adult thing was in some way like being a child.

y'all she gets it so bad i'm gonna burst into tears 😭

this is the best book ever