“She stains the time past: lights the time to come.”
Duchess of Malfi, 1.1.213-4
Tag: classic literature
– Sylvia Plath
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Lady Lazarus
– William Shakespeare
My tongue will tell the
anger of my heart, or
else my heart
concealing it will break.
Taming of the Shrew
– Lemony Snicket
“I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make everyone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are opened and discovered, and until all the secrets have you gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled…”
The Beatrice Letters
– Charles Dickens
“…suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.”
Great Expectations
– Lemony Snicket
“Sunny held Kit, and Violet held Klaus, and for a minute the four castaways did nothing but weep, letting their tears run down their faces and into the sea, which some have said is nothing but a library of all tears in history.”
A Series of Unfortunate Events: The End
– Emily Bronte
He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same…
Wuthering Heights
– Emily Bronte
“May you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you – haunt me then.”
Wuthering Heights
– Pablo Neruda
Los pájaros nocturnos picotean las primeras estrellas que centellean como mi alma cuando te amo.
The birds of the night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.
VII – Inclinado En Las Tardes (Leaning Into The Afternoons)
– Ernest Hemingway
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
