Lanna > Lanna's Quotes

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  • #1
    Anaïs Nin
    “I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ”
    Anaïs Nin

  • #2
    Anaïs Nin
    “Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
    Anaïs Nin

  • #3
    Anaïs Nin
    “I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
    Anaïs Nin

  • #4
    Anaïs Nin
    “Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her.”
    Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

  • #5
    Laurell K. Hamilton
    “There comes a point when you just love someone. Not because they're good, or bad, or anything really. You just love them. It doesn't mean you'll be together forever. It doesn't mean you won't hurt each other. It just mean you love them. Sometimes in spite of who they are, and sometimes because of who they are. And you know that they love you, sometimes because of who you are, and sometimes in spite of it.”
    Laurell K. Hamilton, Incubus Dreams

  • #6
    Laurell K. Hamilton
    “Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed.”
    Laurell K. Hamilton, Blue Moon

  • #7
    Laurell K. Hamilton
    “I will love you always. When this red hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face,I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. I will share your life with you, Meredith, and I will love you until the last breath leaves your body or mine.”
    Laurell K. Hamilton, A Lick of Frost

  • #8
    Laurell K. Hamilton
    “Sometimes it's not the optimist you need, but another pessimist to walk beside you and know, absolutely know, that the sound in the dark is a monster, and it really is as bad as you think.

    Did that sound hopeless? It didn't feel hopeless. It felt reassuring. It felt - real.”
    Laurell K. Hamilton, Blood Noir

  • #9
    Laurell K. Hamilton
    “What is love? Sometimes it's just letting yourself be who and what you are, and letting the person you're supposed to love be who and what he is too. Or maybe what and who they are.”
    Laurell K. Hamilton, Incubus Dreams

  • #10
    Laurell K. Hamilton
    “She should have remembered that people have given everything they own, everything they are, to be taken care of, and to have their pain gone. It's the lure of cults: the promise of a good family; it's what people think love is, but love isn't absence of pain, it's a hand to hold while you're going through it. ”
    Laurell K. Hamilton, The Harlequin

  • #11
    Ellen Bass
    “to love life, to love it even
    when you have no stomach for it
    and everything you've held dear
    crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
    your throat filled with the silt of it.
    When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
    thickening the air, heavy as water
    more fit for gills than lungs;
    when grief weights you like your own flesh
    only more of it, an obesity of grief,
    you think, How can a body withstand this?
    Then you hold life like a face
    between your palms, a plain face,
    no charming smile, no violet eyes,
    and you say, yes, I will take you
    I will love you, again.”
    Ellen Bass

  • #12
    Oriah Mountain Dreamer
    “It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
    It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
    It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
    I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
    It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
    I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
    I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
    It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
    It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
    It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
    I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.”
    Oriah Mountain Dreamer

  • #13
    Robert Fulghum
    “We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.”
    Robert Fulghum, True Love

  • #14
    Haruki Murakami
    “Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

    An you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

    And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”
    Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

  • #15
    Laurie Halse Anderson
    “Cold and silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The sky screams to deliver it, a hundred banshees flying on the edge of
    the blizzard. But once the snow covers the ground, it hushes as still as my heart.”
    Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak

  • #16
    Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
    “The night is full of mystery. Even when the moon is brightest, secrets hide everywhere. Then the sun rises and its rays cast so many shadows that the day creates more illusion than all the veiled truth of the night.”
    Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, Demon in My View

  • #17
    Alice Hoffman
    “Trouble is just like love, after all; it comes in unannounced and takes over before you've had a chance to reconsider, or even to think.”
    Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

  • #18
    Alice Hoffman
    “Do you ever just put your arms out and just spin and spin and spin? Well, that's what love is like; everything inside of you tells you to stop before you fall, but for some reason you just keep going.”
    Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic
    tags: love

  • #19
    Alice Hoffman
    “The moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.

    They could see how love might control you, from your head to your toes, not to mention every single part of you in between.

    A woman could want a man so much she might vomit in the kitchen sink or cry so fiercly blood would form in the corners of her eyes.

    She put her hand to her throat as though someone were strangling her, but really she was choking on all that love she thought she’d needed so badly.

    What had she thought, that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, just to play with? Real love was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for it’s sake.

    She refused to believe in superstition, she wouldn’t; yet it was claiming her.

    Some fates are guaranteed, no matter who tries to intervene.

    After all I’ve done for you is lodged somewhere in her brain, and far worse, it’s in her heart as well.

    She was bad luck, ill-fated and unfortunate as the plague.

    She is not worth his devotion. She wishes he would evaporate into thin air. Maybe then she wouldn’t have this feeling deep inside, a feeling she can deny all she wants, but that won’t stop it from being desire.

    Love is worth the sum of itself and nothing more.

    But that’s what happens when you’re a liar, especially when you’re telling the worst of these lies to yourself.

    He has stumbled into love, and now he’s stuck there. He’s fairly used to not getting what he wants, and he’s dealt with it, yet he can’t help but wonder if that’s only because he didn’t want anything so badly.

    It’s music, it’s a sound that is absurdly beautiful in his mouth, but she won’t pay attention. She knows from the time she spent on the back stairs of the aunts’ house that most things men say are lies. Don’t listen, she tells herself. None if it’s true and none of it matters, because he’s whispering that he’s been looking for her forever. She can’t believe it. She can’t listen to anything he tells her and she certainly can’t think, because if she did she might just think she’d better stop.

    What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She’d have to feel so much, and she’s not that kind.

    The greatest portion of grief is the one you dish out for yourself.

    She preferred cats to human beings and turned down every offer from the men who fell in love with her.

    They told her how sticks and stones could break bones, but taunting and name-calling were only for fools.

    — & now here she is, all used up.

    Although she’d never believe it, those lines in *’s face are the most beautiful part about her. They reveal what she’s gone through and what she’s survived and who exactly she is, deep inside.

    She’s gotten back some of what she’s lost. Attraction, she now understands, is a state of mind.

    If there’s one thing * is now certain of, it’s house you can amaze yourself by the things you’re willing to do.

    You really don’t know? That heart-attack thing you’ve been having? It’s love, that’s what it feels like.

    She knows now that when you don’t lose yourself in the bargain, you find you have double the love you started with, and that’s one recipe that can’t be tampered with.

    Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.”
    Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

  • #20
    J.R. Ward
    “For fuck's sake, get off the cross. Someone else needs the wood.”
    J.R. Ward, Lover Enshrined

  • #21
    J.R. Ward
    “All I know is, she's a pounding in my chest that I can't ignore. . . hell, that I don't WANT to ignore. [Rhage]”
    J.R. Ward, Lover Eternal

  • #22
    J.R. Ward
    “After all, tragedy didn't discriminate, so everyone was subject to the same whims of fate.”
    J.R. Ward, Lover Unbound

  • #23
    J.R. Ward
    “Sometimes the only thing that got you through hell was that you were in too deep to pull out”
    J.R. Ward

  • #24
    “Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.”

  • #25
    Peter De Vries
    “Sometimes I write drunk and revise sober, and sometimes I write sober and revise drunk. But you have to have both elements in creation — the Apollonian and the Dionysian, or spontaneity and restraint, emotion and discipline.”
    Peter De Vries, Reuben, Reuben

  • #26
    Pablo Neruda
    “I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
    Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
    Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
    I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

    I hunger for your sleek laugh,
    your hands the color of a savage harvest,
    hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
    I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

    I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
    the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
    I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

    and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
    hunting for you, for your hot heart,
    Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.”
    Pablo Neruda

  • #27
    Pablo Neruda
    “Well, now
    If little by little you stop loving me
    I shall stop loving you
    Little by little
    If suddenly you forget me
    Do not look for me
    For I shall already have forgotten you

    If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my life
    And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots
    That on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms
    And my roots will set off to seek another land”
    Pablo Neruda, Selected Poems

  • #28
    Pablo Neruda
    “Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us”
    Pablo Neruda

  • #29
    Pablo Neruda
    “To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”
    Pablo Neruda

  • #30
    Pablo Neruda
    “So many days, oh so many days
    seeing you so tangible and so close,
    how do I pay, with what do I pay?

    The bloodthirsty spring
    has awakened in the woods.
    The foxes start from their earths,
    the serpents drink the dew,
    and I go with you in the leaves
    between the pines and the silence,
    asking myself how and when
    I will have to pay for my luck.

    Of everything I have seen,
    it's you I want to go on seeing:
    of everything I've touched,
    it's your flesh I want to go on touching.
    I love your orange laughter.
    I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.

    What am I to do, love, loved one?
    I don't know how others love
    or how people loved in the past.
    I live, watching you, loving you.
    Being in love is my nature.

    You please me more each afternoon.

    Where is she? I keep on asking
    if your eyes disappear.
    How long she's taking! I think, and I'm hurt.
    I feel poor, foolish and sad,
    and you arrive and you are lightning
    glancing off the peach trees.

    That's why I love you and yet not why.
    There are so many reasons, and yet so few,
    for love has to be so,
    involving and general,
    particular and terrifying,
    joyful and grieving,
    flowering like the stars,
    and measureless as a kiss.

    That's why I love you and yet not why.
    There are so many reasons, and yet so few,
    for love has to be so,
    involving and general,
    particular and terrifying,
    joyful and grieving,
    flowering like the stars,
    and measureless as a kiss.”
    Pablo Neruda

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