"coming-of-age"タグの名言

I need more protein in my poetry. I don't care if you cannot chew the fat of my words, my stomach is growling and it is because... I am starving.

I've always kept one emotional suitcase packed. With you, I live out of one, every day, and I keep a cab on speed dial.

His mind had patterns, patterns that made puzzles, and puzzles that became mazes. Those mazes had color and became labyrinths— labyrinths that went crazy like jungles— and all he could trust me with was letting my fingers get lost in his curls. I played in there, for years trapped in his hair (that overthought and provoked lair)— the only thing between my thoughts and his: the air. But, he was smart not to trust me enough. He knew. The open air looked at him with slight eyes, issued him binds of lies, like library cards ...full of fiction. And I knew this, so how could I forget? Along the way, I turned into every other female he ever loved. It was his destiny that gave me permission to pull his hair again.

No tie is as strong as family, making it the hardest one to break.

Ecce homo means behold the man. Behold the man and all his failures, if you can love him then God has forgiven and I have finally found a God worth serving with thin thighs and knots in her back. We have never kissed underneath a tree, I have never pushed your hair aside to shield the wind, I have never said whatever forces unseen and seen should be ours to smile eyes closed together. Buildings laugh at each other the way we do.

I wanted to have a good relationship. One that's romantic and dramatic, like in the movies. But I finally became a woman at 17 and learned that men aren't really that simple.

Close your eyes, what do you think about? Not all dreams happen with your eyes closed, but the ones that do are the ones that have the most imagery, the most hope. Hope can be a dreadful thing but it can be a beautiful thing. There have been many great philosophers who have said that hope and dreams have this false sense of themselves, that they are only fragments of the real or true. They may be right about being fragments, but that does not make them any less true. Dreams send us guiding towards ideas, that are true themselves, if only ideals, of goals that we should strive towards. It is cliche and commonplace to call dreams fantasies of the mind, wishful thinking of fading things. Yet there are things that philosophers cannot explain, that reason leaves, all philosophers believe themselves poets but leave the soul out of their writing. The mind and its reason, that is truth. That is the belief. Yet anyone who has looked at a view that has left them without breath has known of something more.

They said let go, so I tried, knowing that I have never been able to let go of anything that was already attached to my brain. Like all the other moments where I was happy, I realised, all I wanted was more time. I wanted to be stuck, to stagnate, let me be the rock that drowns, let this be my future. I have seen uninhabited islands of anonymous colours as high as the clouds they lay on just to think of you, repeating itself like a parakeet or a perfectly broken loop traveling the world to find its and our spiritual oblivion. People only stay in your life depending on how much you persist with them.

Two insane idiots with the same idea, that is what love is.

Most of the conversation was said with our eyes. Our eyes told truths neither of us could understand. Her a Goddess and me her pew. It was spent with me looking at her and her looking elsewhere. Perpendicular.

I looked outside your second floor living room window. I saw a view I had never thought I would see. There were trees of reddish brown hugging a river, dying but beautiful. Telling me I was so much more than a moment, and yet only a moment could define me at the present time. The future is unseen. Expecting to be better, is not always the truth. It takes something to smash your brains in, to squeeze your heart, to torture your soul in order to make you see what is in front of you

The biggest lie I ever told anyone was that I would not leave.

It was if I made love to a nymph of the mountains or air or wind and she had come to me to make me fall in love and leave, with some grand plan behind those actions. The last time I saw her she was just looking anywhere but me, a magical siren who I was helpless to look at staring at her distant gaze. A side profile of one of the most beautiful things I would ever see, with her hair blowing through the fall Melbourne wind.

It was the kind of summer evening that made Ursula want to be alone. 'Oh,' Izzie said, 'You're at an age when a girl is simply consumed by the sublime.' Ursula wasn't sure what she meant ('No one is ever sure what she means,' Sylvie said) but she thought she understood a little. There was a strangeness in the shimmering air, a sense of imminence that made Ursula's chest feel full, as if her heart was growing. It was a kind of high holiness - she could think of no other way of describing it. Perhaps it was the future, she thought, coming nearer all the time.

Malachite eyes sparkled, pale green in the light of the setting sun.

The vibrant matte amethyst dial made the gleaming hour and minute markers seem to come alive. The long, thick hands were fragile, yet ceaselessly ticking by, like life itself. Countless hours must have been invested in the bezel, meticulously hashed all the way around. The tachymeter claimed prominence as if asserting that distance travelled over time should be of paramount importance. Never had the sheer pace and inevitability of time been better captured in an object.

Death can’t be cheated, but there are endless ways that life can be lived.

And so, Anaya's story begins with her last thought. Would I have done this if I had any option but the grave?

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? When life rode on its highs, you wanted it to go on forever. But in the depths of the invariable dives, you’d be happy to be put out of your misery, because whatever awaited beyond this life had to be better than this shit on Earth.

Karma’s not a bitch. She’s a whore, acting like I’ve stolen her pimp.