Bokelskere.no

She knew few words and believed in none.

There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still.

Somewhere inside me there'll always be the person I am to-night.

Most people think everybody feels about them much more violently than they actually do- they think other people's opinions of them swing through great ares of approval or disapproval.

"Already with thee! tender is the night,
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways."
- John Keats -

I think that things ought to belong to the people that like them.

His voice promised that he would take care of her, and that a little later he would open up whole new worlds for her, unroll and endless succsession of magnificent possibilities.

All my beautiful lovely safe world blew itself up here with a great gust of high explosive love.

"The strongest guard is placed at the gateway to nothing," he said. "Maybe because the condition of emptiness is too shameful to be divulged."

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it.