"People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic."
"And it’s hard to hate someone once you understand them."
Men still have trouble recognizing that a woman can be complex, can have ambition, good looks, sexuality, erudition, and common sense. A woman can have all those facets, and yet men, in literature and in drama, seem to need to simplify women, to polarize us as either the whore or the angel.
Love isn’t about
fucking each other
at any opportunity.
It also isn’t about
how many months
that you’ve been together.
love is about
being able to see light
inside of the person
who knows nothing
George R.R. Martin on writing women:
"VI. He never broke my heart. He only turned it into a compass that always points me back to him."
If you’re every feeling down, listen to this. Yes it might make you cry, but it will make you smile & feel warm inside.
Casually bringing this back….
I will not cry… I will not cry…