emotions scrapbook

Do you want to know why I stopped calling? It’s because I didn’t need you anymore. I can’t believe how pathetic you are. That’s why you have him now, huh? Needed someone to trail along after you like a lost puppy? You need him to want you.

Tell me another pretty lie, right here, to my face, he promised the precise stitches of that shoulder seam, and I will let you keep it.

While the people of Troy rejoiced, Cassandra, angry with Helen's arrival, furiously snatched away Helen's golden veil and tore at her hair. Cassandra was also the first to see the body of her brother Hector being brought back to the city.

It’s a little cold for ice cream, but all the same he takes one when it’s offered in the middle of a surprisingly dexterous you-take-that-I’ll-take-this involving giving the change back.

She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Her tears lay around her like a moat. Her tears so purified her that the wizard could not approach.

I suffered death, but could not die.

If God doesn't like ugly, then God doesn't like anybody, so fuck God anyway! God is obsolete! Oh, my God thinks my jokes are funny!

First fight. Then fiddle. Be remote a while from malice and from murdering. But first to arms, to armor. Carry hate in front of you and harmony behind.

He was ready to give up immortality and go home, he was ready to give up that fabled honor he was promised. Then he loses Patroclus. And with him goes the last of his compassion & humanity: he will be remembered for sheer, brutal, visceral anger that drives him back into battle.

Cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other. Say, what did you think all them saddles and boots was about?

The expression in his eyes is equal parts reassurance and horror.

CHORUS You’re mad – godstruck godswept godnonsensical and you keep making that sound, it’s not musical. Like the nightingale who wails her lost child, you’re inexhaustibly wild. Sorrow this, sorrow that, sorrow this, sorrow that.

Someone he'd die for, someone he'd kill for. Someone who, despite that, he still can't bring himself to touch where people might see. And unfortunately it's real easy to hate himself for that and then just keep on doing it.

DO OUR TALKING WITH A LASER BEAM

CARLOS: Oh god, this must sound crazy, you barely know me and, and I’m coming off as desperate, but it’s because I am. Please call me. CECIL: And I did call him back. And I said: “I love you too. Babe, I love your beard. I love our dog. I love… I – I love our life together.”

If I’d only kept hold of him. But I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I let go, and you know the only thing he said? “Don’t follow me.” That’s it. Don’t follow me. Like everything we…

Does Shatterstar not eat? Not often. Then why did we let him pick the restaurant, Julio? He has weirdly strong feelings about the atmosphere at various brunch spots in this neighborhood. I do.

The heart, poor fellow, pounding on his little tin drum with a faint death beat: that eyeless beetle, enormous that Kafka beetle, running panicked through his maze, never stopping one foot after the other, one hour after the other, until he gags on an apple and it’s all over.

See the man that other men are compelled to follow. And among them I’ll always be first. Keep up with us if you can.

Little did I know… that felicity came with forgetting. It was a bliss born of ignorance.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get… lost. There are bridges you cross you didn't know you crossed until you've crossed!

The sea isn’t a place but a fact, and a mystery under its green and black cobbled coat that never stops moving.

That's where the pain comes in, like a second skeleton! Tryin' to fit beneath the skin! I can't fit the feelings in! Every single night's alight with my brain!

We are here to take the blame, to take the taunts and the shame. We are here to make you feel. It terrifies you, but it's real. It will keep you up all night.

I got to fold cause these hands are too shaky to hold. Hunger hurts, but starving works when it costs too much to love.

Pleasant enough, by no means sad, is the rickety graveyard on the hill – those are not cypress trees among the lurching slabs, but cedars from the neighborhood, native to this rocky land, self-sown. Precious in the early light, reassuring is the grave-scarred hillside.

Before cutting any branch from an elder tree, one must say “Owd Gal, give me of thy wood, an’ Oi will give some of moine, when I grows inter a tree.”

little crazy roller coaster fatality floor show in a drag club

You think yourself her protector? Hah! As if a whelp like you could be a better father to her than me!

But don’t speak – not a sound – if I stay in the dark the light can’t bring me down.

Good friends. Most of them good. Most of them friendly.

No, I don’t. Suffice to say, being exactly what my father wanted did not make him despise me any less.

Either way, keep a close eye out for strangers. And if you see someone you do not know, point and shout, “Interloper!” as is our friendly Night Vale custom.

Touching. And yes, Carol, we saw what happened in Stamford – because the X-Men went there to help. Which begs the question: where were the Avengers when WE needed help? Where were you?

We have always tried to make sense of the natural forces in the world and of the hidden forces in ourselves. Sometimes we give them shapes as gods and devils; sometimes we subject them to rules, which we call magic.

He was ready to give up immortality and go home, he was ready to give up that fabled honor he was promised. Then he loses Patroclus. And with him goes the last of his compassion & humanity: he will be remembered for sheer, brutal, visceral anger that drives him back into battle.

What if… no matter how hard I try… and try and try… my work never pays off? What if I’m never able to save anyone? I worry that when my hands fail to find hope – when they end up grasping at thin air… that I just might begin reaching for things I shouldn’t.

Another self-important little brat. Just what we need. Hmm. Reminds me of my childhood.

Did he tell you why he destroyed all his paintings, why he lost the will to live? You knew nothing about it. We were closer to each other than to you. When he burned the paintings I could see the future through the flames. He was burning my life as well as his own.

And then I get sick and throw up – and there's another memory that gets stuck inside the walls of my skull, waiting for its turn to talk. And it may be a few years, but you can bet it's there, waiting still, for me to be left alone in a room with the things that I've done…

She was raised on a steady diet of violence, by violence. Everything about her character is defined by neglecting other parts of her.

We talked of the Forgetful People, as the Faery people are sometimes called, and came in the midst of our talk to a notable haunt of theirs, a shallow cave amidst black rocks with its reflection under it in the wet sea sand.

You keep asking “Why is he still around?” That’s not the mystery here. He doesn’t want anything more from this situation. He’s getting exactly what he wants: something to occupy his time and make him feel important. The mystery is: WHY ARE YOU STILL AROUND?

You would think the sea could do something, but it just lifted and flattened, lifted and flattened. Like a stone stands by a grave and says nothing.

Sounds pretty sappy, if you ask me. I suppose there are worse things.

We don’t work like we used to. I can’t change who I am and you can’t change who you are. And I’m not going to be the reason that you’re miserable. I am miserable now. Yeah, well, me too.

In an interior monologue, the woman speaks to her dead lover: “I was unfaithful to you tonight with this stranger. I told him our story. It was, you see, a story that could be told.” Every love is a love story.

The Atreides plead that they act for just retribution, but the chain of murder has got out of hand and perpetuates itself, until it seems no longer to come from personal purpose but has grown into a curse, a thing. Every correction is a bloodbath which calls for correction.

I deserve to be punished, far more than you know. I know enough. You have things to make amends for – and you are doing so, as far as I can tell. But even if you weren’t, our relationship should never be a source of punishment. Ever.