August 2010
14 posts
“I just loved her. She had poise and great dignity. Her eyes, I remember, were deep brown like her hair, and she was slender and very quiet and fragile-looking. Even then, at nine years old, I wanted to live inside her body. I wanted to melt into her bones - that kind of love.”
—The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien (via birdofthesummer)
Albert Camus' The Stranger
“As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really—I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.”
