book quots

The moment you feel like you have to prove your worth to someone is the moment you must walk away.
—  reblog for a reminder to all
Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
—  Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones
  • Me: I am always on the search for a new book.
  • My TBR pile, stacked against the ceiling, overflowing out the window: Will you shut up already?!
  • Magnus: Ok. Step one. Be straight.
  • Alec: *walks by*
  • Magnus: Failed step one.

So we’re laying on your sofa with my head on your shoulder and I almost tell you everything,

Like somehow when I’m with you I forget the way he touched me, and the way I tore myself to shreds because of it. Somehow when I’m with you he doesn’t even matter.

I almost tell you that this is the third summer I’ve been hopelessly in love with you and ever since we first kissed on the ghost train, that love has never faded, no matter what.

I almost tell you that I wish we hadn’t have fucked it up, that we were too young, that that much love is nearly Impossible to handle at such a young age, but now we’re older, now we can do it.

But I can’t tell you anything I want to tell you because we’re just friends, we’re just friends, we’re just friends,

I almost tell you that every ounce of my being wishes that we were more than just friends.

Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is despatched — love for instance — we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.
—  Virginia Woolf, The Waves