miyu
@rowanela
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24 Aralık
36 okur puanı
Ocak 2018 tarihinde katıldı
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"They don't mess with cats—nobody messes with cats."
Reklam
"Hell's lonely," said Peter. "You'll want company."
"Hell is other people, I've heard."
That's how the best lies are told—with just enough truth to be convincing.
My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?
Words are like seeds, I think, planted into our hearts at a tender age.
They take root in us as we grow, settling deep into our souls. The good words plant well. They flourish and find homes in our hearts. They build trunks around our spines, steadying us when we’re feeling most flimsy; planting our feet firmly when we’re feeling most unsure. But the bad words grow poorly. Our trunks infest and spoil until we are hollow and housing the interests of others and not our own. We are forced to eat the fruit those words have borne, held hostage by the branches growing arms around our necks, suffocating us to death, one word at a time.
Reklam