That who he is, or who he thinks he is, is just a collection of references to other people’s art and he is so focused on story and meaning and structure that he wants his world to have all of it neatly laid out and it never, ever does and he fears it never will.
Clearly he must be doing something wrong. If his productions are merely almost transcendent, when the possibility of true transcendence exists somewhere nearby, waiting to be attained, then there is something else that must be done.
It is easier to be in love in a room with closed doors.
It’s important to you, isn’t it?” Eleanor asks. “Yes, it is.” “Important things hurt sometimes.
How tempting it is to lose myself in you. To let go. To let you keep me from breaking chandeliers rather than constantly worrying about it, myself.
She focuses only on him, pulling everything that he is with her as she breaks herself apart. Holding on to the memory of every touch of his skin against hers, every moment she had spent with him. Carrying him with her.
And there are always those who would watch Alexandria burn. There always have been. There always will be. So there are always guardians.
But anyway, this hidden kingdom was kept alive in that magical fairy-tale way and in the same way that it would sing to people who needed to find it for sanctuary purposes it started whispering for someone to come and destroy it.
An accumulation of unforeseen circumstances.
There are no more battles between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens in need of rescue.
Was he a sentiment hanging unspoken or a path not taken or a closed door left unopened?
So far so good, but I never like to commit to an opinion until the end of the book because you never know what might happen.
I am not particularly fond of believing in impossible things.
He complains that she should be doing something instead of just glowing there and then apologizes, for who is he to question the actions or inactions of the moon?
We proceed at different rates but we area ll moving into the future.
His face is so much more than hair and eye color, she wonders why books do not describe the curves of noses or the length of eyelashes.
He tries to decide if he’s changed since this all started because isn’t that the point and he feels different than he did but he can’t weigh feeling different versus having changed from inside himself with no heartbeat, standing on a shore with no shoes.
Or maybe that’s what I got out of it and someone else hearing the same story would see something different.
They’re cards with stories on them,′ she explains as the girl looks curiously at the cards in her hand. ‘You shuffle the pictures and they tell you the story.
The girl spends one night, and then another. By the end of the second night she can see the ghosts again. By the third she has no desire to leave, for who would leave their home once they had found it? She is there, still.