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All was desolate and splendid, as it is given to neither nature nor art to devise, but as happens only when they join together, when across the often seamlessly accumulated toil of man, nature passes a finishing touch of the chisel, lightens the heavy masses, eliminates the crudely palpable symmetry and confers wondrous warm on everything that has been created in the chill of calculated purity and tidiness.

With a deep knowledge of the heart and a wise grasp of life will the word of the Briton resound; like a flippant fop will the ephemeral word of the Frenchman glitter and burst; ingeniously will the German contrive his shrewdly spare word which is not accessible to all; but there is no word so sweeping, so bold, so torn from under the heart itself, so bubbling and quivering with life as the aptly uttered Russian word.

It struck Tom like a horrible truth, true for all time, true for the people he had known in the past and for those he would know in the future: each had stood and would stand before him, and he would know time and time again that he would never know them, and the worst was that there would always be the illusion, for a time, that he did know them, and that he and they were completely in harmony and alike.

I can’t explain how badly I want a charming trust fund expat to become obsessed with me and want me to stay with him and I could even pretend to be interested in his bad art

The whole time reading this I’m just giggling thinking about Jude Lawwwwww

Finding out that this is a series and that people generally like the series as a whole. I’m very excited. I can’t picture what a sequel to this book would be like if this first book is like the movie.

All I’ve ever wanted was a sweet little sociopathic Matt Damon to call my own

Henry James referenced. I heard this book is a reworking of a Henry James book. I’ve only read one James book, Turn of the Screw, but I liked his writing style a lot. I’m going to read The Ambassadors for sure

I personally like this a lot more than the first book. I need family rivalries and scheming political advisors and plots being hatched by unlikely allies

If these are ever adapted into a movie or show I can’t wait for (Don’t Fear) The Reaper to play during a Darrow pop off moment. Oooo like when he’s attacking the proctors in the first book.

He can’t say any more because I’m hugging him and crying. I sob and hold on to him, shaking, scaring him. He doesn’t move except to pat me on the head. All the weight falls from my shoulders. Someone knows. He knows and he’s here. He knows and he came to help me. To help me.

Kill your darlings!

Now Hell and Heaven grapple on our backs, and all our old pretense is ripped away — make your peace with it! Peace. It is a providence, and no great change; we are only what we always were, but naked now. Aye, naked! And the wind, God’s icy wind, will blow!

Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in Heaven.

So there was no excuse; nothing whatever the matter, except the sin for which human nature had condemned him to death; that he did not feel.

(Every time this “He did not feel” refrain comes back, it gets more and more cutting and now I’m sobbing.)

As we are a doomed race, chained to a sinking ship, as the whole thing is a bad joke, let us, at any rate, do our part; mitigate the sufferings of our fellow prisoners; decorate the dungeon with flowers and air-cushions, be as decent as we possibly can.

We welcome, the world seemed to say; we accept; we create. Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it wherever he looked, at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy.

Sobbing at the death of a character I’ve only known for 45 pages. I think I’m kinda just in an emotional mood but this is devastating

I am so impressed so far. I think I’m going to love this. Saw Mickey 17 like a couple hours ago and it put me in a mood for space and my mom just bought me this.

But the indomitable egotism which for ever rides down the hosts opposed to it, the river which says on, on, on; even though, it admits, there may be no goal for us whatever, still on, on; this indomitable egotism charged her cheeks with colour; made her look very young.

She could see what she lacked. It was not beauty; it was not mind. It was something central which permeated; something warm which broke up surfaces and ripples the cold contact of man and woman, or of women together.

She could see what she lacked. It was not beauty; it was not mind. It was something central which permeated; something warm which broke up surfaces and ripples the cold contact of man and woman, or of women together.