Sydney L.

“March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between winter and spring—though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don’t know what you’ll find, until you step outside.”
― V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

“He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

“...kissing me with a violence that was terrifying and yet, somehow, the summit of all my tenderest dreams.”
― Mary Stewart, Nine Coaches Waiting

“in the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I shall meet”
― tha mad hatter