Vivian > Recent Status Updates

I went home into a sliver of time I count as happiness before the end, before we lost everything.

"If I hurt my brain, will I get a bigger one? One that isn't in my fingertips?"

When Borne saw me staring at him, he would make a sound like the startled clearing of a throat, and his flesh would absorb all of the eyes except two, which would migrate higher on his body and away from each other. Sometimes they would slip back down to his hips, but once in position on his torso they became larger, took on a sea blue color, and grew long, dark lashes; they moved independently of each other.

Come on, Pirates!

Cheers to Cupid's BFF for the gift.

(\_/)
(o.o)
c♥️

[T]here is on thing we can do: devote our ceaseless efforts, in all our meetings and all our interpersonal relationships, toward the "best possible parting." That is all.

Both Kelly and Kryraryker gave this 5 *
I'm going in.

Self-loathing stopped warring with passion, and was replaced by something infinitely more tender, and more terrifying.

[Y]our individuality is not something relative--it is absolute.

"You're a busy man, Shaw with business concerns on two continents. Obviously you agree with my statement."

Shaw smiled slightly. "My lord, since my 'sexual congress' is limited exclusively to my wife, who happens to be your sister, I believe I'll have the good sense to keep my mouth shut."

Because the question is not whether something happened in the past, but what meaning "myself now" gives to that past. [...] Look, in our world, "the past" in the real sense of the word does not exist. It is just painted in an endless array of colors of "now", each with its own interpretations.

The most important point of difference is the presence of absence of "story". Religion explains the world by means of stories. You could say that the gods are the protagonists of the grand stories that religions use to explain the world. By contrast, philosophy rejects stories. It tries to explain the world by means of abstract concepts that have no protagonists.

The Courage to Be Happy[...]is a kind of compass for actually putting Adler's ideas into practice and leading a happy life.

--well, it's been a while since I studied Adler, let's see how much I've forgotten.

The subject of this book is the possibility of a life full of compassion and meaning in a broken world.

It was security building but it really wasn't. Bosch slipped the lock on the front gate with a butter knife he kept with his picks in the glove compartment of the Caprice.

--Locks are deterrents; makes it slower or they look for easier. Mastered the butter knife as a kid when my brother tried to lock me out of my bedroom. Using my college ID to get into my own apartment should have made me sleep less well.

Bosch watched the squadron of helicopters, like dragonflies from this distance, dodging in and out of the smoke, dropping their payloads of water and pink fire retardant on burning homes and trees. It reminded him of dustoffs in Vietnam.

The notion that female militants were more dangerous than their male comrades would persist for decade. Germany's elite counterterrorism force, Grenzschutzgruppe 9, purportedly issued a standing order: "Shoot the women first."

I was starting, just perceptibly, to doubt myself. I was beginning to question our motives.

O_o
Day late and a dollar short.

Leverage, very important.

Yep. There's the point of no return.

How delightfully wistful. *sigh*

Once only, just after Harvard, he had spent a few gay weeks at Florence with a band of queer Europeanised Americans, dancing all night with titled ladies in palaces, and gambling half the day with the rakes and dandies of the fashionable club; but it had all seemed to him, though the greatest fun in the world, as unreal as a carnival.

The exciting fact was her having lived in an atmosphere so thick with drama that her own tendency to provoke it had apparently passed unperceived.

O__o

Packed in the family landau they rolled from one tribal doorstep to another, and Archer, when the afternoon's round was over, parted from his betrothed with the feeling that he had been shown off like a wild animal cunningly trapped.

I was hoping for more feminism; looks like a lot of communism and race relations, so far.

Pausing this as a buddy read will commence shortly, but I'm intrigued by the interiority of the space--viewing it through a Cassatt's lens, female Impressionist whose work reflects the constraints of gender.

He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation.

She opened her mouth and eyes pretty wide and let her jaw drop sideways, and managed to look so like a dyspeptic calf that I recognised the symptoms immediately.

"Oh, that's all right," I said. "No need to be alarmed. He's simply in love with you."

"Where did you meet her?"

"On top of a bus. Her name is Charlotte Corday Rowbotham."

"My God!"

"It's not her fault, poor child. Her father had her christened that because he's all for the Revolution, and it seems that the original Charlotte Corday used to go about stabbing oppressors in their baths, which entitles her to consideration and respect.

--Lol, that's funny.

Personally, if anyone had told me that a tie like that suited me, I should have risen and struck them on the mazzard, regardless of their age and sex; but poor old Bingo simply got all flustered with gratification, and smirked in the most gruesome manner.

I was wondering were the radical feminists were.