cey
@IReadThereforeIam
devouring every book I could lay my hands on.
Şu anda okuduğu kitaplar
A brief anger had often invested him but he had never been able to make it an abiding passion and had always felt himself passing out of it as if his very body were being divested with ease of some outer skin or peel.
Reklam
One soul was lost; a tiny soul: his. It flickered once and went out, forgotten, lost. The end: black, cold, void waste.
He could not weep. He could not summon them to his memory. He felt only an ache of soul and body, his whole being, memory, will, understanding, flesh, benumbed and weary.
What did it profit a man to gain the whole world if he lost his soul?
What did it avail to pray when he knew that his soul lusted after its own destruction?
Reklam