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The Particle at t...
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“If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”
David Ellsworth from The Serenity of Selfism
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Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
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A Room with a View - Classic Illustrated Edition by E.M. Forster
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The Republic by Plato
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The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells
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The Art of War by Sun Tzu
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Swiss Family Robinson by Johann David Wyss
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More of Minciloh's books…
Criss Jami
“Thoughts are like burning stars, and ideas, they flood, they stretch the universe.”
Criss Jami, Killosophy

Aimee Bender
“But I loved George in part because he believed me; because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.”
Aimee Bender, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

Pablo Neruda
“I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.”
Pablo Neruda

Nicole Krauss
“("Let's stand under a tree," she said.

"Why?"

"Because it's nicer."

"Maybe you should sit on a chair, and I'll stand above you, like they always do with husbands and wives."

"That's stupid."

"Why's it stupid?"

"Because we're not married."

"Should we hold hands?"

"We can't."

"But why?"

"Because, people will know."

"Know what?"

"About us."

"So what if they know?"

"It's better when it's a secret."

"Why?"

"So no one can take it from us.")”
Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

John Green
“There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.”
John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

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