"Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn’t nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand."
— Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (via observando)
"And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind."
— Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets (via mirroir)
(Source: arebirthofwonder, via kate-the-curst)
"…mainly because this particular hero was a heroine.
A redheaded one.
Now there is a tendency at a point like this to look over one’s shoulder at the cover artist and start going in at length about leather, thighboots and naked blades.
Words like “full,” “round” and even “pert” creep into the narrative, until the writer has to go and have a cold shower and a lie down.
Which is all rather silly, because any woman setting out to make a living by the sword isn’t about to go around looking like something off the cover of the more advanced kind of lingerie catalogue for the specialized buyer."
Terry Pratchett’s The Light Fantastic (page 96)
In which the wonderful Terry takes a crack at the foolish sexualization of women warriors. I was just about dying reading this. I love Pratchett. His work is gold.