– Maggie Stiefvater

Literature

Do you really think God will forgive me for the blood on my hands, even if my soul was free? I’m going to hell no matter what happens. Let me have my pathetic hopeless love while I can. Just – let me pretend it will turn out all right.

Lament: The Faerie Queen’s Deception

– Maggie Stiefvater

Literature

“Don’t tell me that. I’ve lived in hell for the past thousand years. I spent a thousand years wishing I’d never been born. She’s the only thing that’s made my life worth living and if that’s all I get, a few months with her- a few days, it’s more than I’ve ever hoped for. Do you really think God would forgive me for the blood on my hands, even if my soul was free? I’m going to hell no matter what happens. Let me have my pathetic hopeless love while I can. Just- let me pretend it will turn out alright.”

Lament

F. Scott Fitzgerald 

Literature

Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know – because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, Dot, and when I got it, it turned to dust in my hand.

The Beautiful and the Damned

Sing You Home – Subverted

Quotes

He puts his hands on either side of my face, and the room falls away. I have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And then, the space between us explodes. My heart keeps missing beats and my hands cannot bring him close enough to me. I taste him and realize I have been starving. I have loved before, but it didn’t feel like this. I have kissed before, but it didn’t burn me alive. Maybe it lasts a minute, and maybe it’s an hour. All I know is that kiss, and how soft his skin is when it brushes against mine, and that even if I did not know it until now, I have been waiting for this person forever.

A Letter Found in First Edition Copy of ‘The Great Gatsby’

Literature

For Charles T. Scott,

Gatsby was never quite real to me. His original served for a good enough exterior until about the middle of the book he grew thin and I began to fill him with my own emotional life. So he’s synthetic – and that’s one of the flaws in this book.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ellerslie, Edgemoore, Delaware, 1927