“The quickest path to self-destruction is to push away the people you love.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“How can you still love me after everything I’ve done to you?” “How can I not? You’re the fucking love of my life. You don’t stop loving someone just because they’ve hurt you. Yes, what you did hurt me, but I gain nothing if I stay angry with you. But I might gain everything by forgiving you. You’re my everything. I just want you back.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“You’re my mess, and that makes you a beautiful mess,”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“You’re mine, and a piece of you will always belong to me the same way a piece of me will always belong to you.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“Why? Why do you have to leave?” “Because sometimes you have to suffer without the things you want now so you can have everything you need later.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“Because sometimes you have to suffer without the things you want now so you can have everything you need later.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“Are you okay?” he whispers as he kisses my neck and I nod hastily. “Good ‘cause I’m about to wreck you.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“Most people think that they want spacious homes, but they don’t realize how the emptiness of a large room just amplifies the emptiness in a broken heart. And we’re all broken, in one way or another.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“I’m going to take my time and you’re going to like it.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“You don't stop loving someone just because they've hurt you.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“You may not be mine anymore, but I'm still lucky to have you in my life.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“It's funny that when the one person you live for is ripped out of your life you can still find a way to convince yourself it's for the best and that you will eventually get over it.
What a joke.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“Most people think that they want spacious homes, but they don't realize how the emptiness of a large room just amplifies the emptiness in a broken heart.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“No one knows how to love me like you and no one knows how to hurt me like you.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
“sometimes being alone is more desirable than being in a roomful of people who aren’t there.”
― Cassia Leo, quote from Pieces of You
Cassia Leo
Born place: The United States
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“It was in America that horses first roamed. A million years before the birth of man, they grazed the vast plains of wiry grass and crossed to other continents over bridges of rock soon severed by retreating ice. They first knew man as the hunted knows the hunter, for long before he saw them as a means to killing other beasts, man killed them for their meat.
Paintings on the walls of caves showed how. Lions and bears would turn and fight and that was the moment men speared them. But the horse was a creature of flight not fight and, with a simple deadly logic, the hunter used flight to destroy it. Whole herds were driven hurtling headlong to their deaths from the tops of cliffs. Deposits of their broken bones bore testimony. And though later he came pretending friendship, the alliance with man would ever be but fragile, for the fear he'd struck into their hearts was too deep to be dislodged.
Since that neolithic moment when first a horse was haltered, there were those among men who understood this.
They could see into the creature's soul and soothe the wounds they found there. Often they were seen as witches and perhaps they were. Some wrought their magic with the bleached bones of toads, plucked from moonlit streams. Others, it was said, could with but a glance root the hooves of a working team to the earth they plowed. There were gypsies and showmen, shamans and charlatans. And those who truly had the gift were wont to guard it wisely, for it was said that he who drove the devil out, might also drive him in. The owner of a horse you calmed might shake your hand then dance around the flames while they burned you in the village square.
For secrets uttered softly into pricked and troubles ears, these men were known as Whisperers.”
― Nicholas Evans, quote from The Horse Whisperer
“Well, you know when people are no good at anything else they become writers.”
― W. Somerset Maugham, quote from The Razor's Edge
“The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last moment.”
― Jules Verne, quote from Around the World in Eighty Days
“My son, do not forget my teaching,
But let your heart keep my commandments;
For length of days and years of life
And peace they will add to you.
Do not let kindness and truth leave you;
Bind them around your neck,
Write them on the tablet of your heart.
So you will find favor and good repute
In the sight of God and man.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
And do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him,
And He will make your paths straight.”
― quote from Holy Bible: New International Version
“Speaking of novels,’ I said, ‘you remember we decided once, you, your husband and I, that Proust’s rough masterpiece was a huge, ghoulish fairy tale, an asparagus dream, totally unconnected with any possible people in any historical France, a sexual travestissement and a colossal farce, the vocabulary of genius and its poetry, but no more, impossibly rude hostesses, please let me speak, and even ruder guests, mechanical Dostoevskian rows and Tolstoian nuances of snobbishness repeated and expanded to an unsufferable length, adorable seascapes, melting avenues, no, do not interrupt me, light and shade effects rivaling those of the greatest English poets, a flora of metaphors, described—by Cocteau, I think—as “a mirage of suspended gardens,” and, I have not yet finished, an absurd, rubber-and-wire romance between a blond young blackguard (the fictitious Marcel), and an improbable jeune fille who has a pasted-on bosom, Vronski’s (and Lyovin’s) thick neck, and a cupid’s buttocks for cheeks; but—and now let me finish sweetly—we were wrong, Sybil, we were wrong in denying our little beau ténébreux the capacity of evoking “human interest”: it is there, it is there—maybe a rather eighteenth-centuryish, or even seventeenth-centuryish, brand, but it is there. Please, dip or redip, spider, into this book [offering it], you will find a pretty marker in it bought in France, I want John to keep it. Au revoir, Sybil, I must go now. I think my telephone is ringing.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, quote from Pale Fire
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