“Everything has beauty. Even the ugly. Because without the ugly, there would be no beauty. Because without beauty, we would not survive our pain, our sorrow and our suffering.”
“Love is a feeling, a real, raw, and unscripted emotion so sensationally pure, unable to dull even under the strain of a world against it, strong enough to heal the broken and warm even the coldest of hearts.
Innate.
Unavoidable.
Undeniable.
And sometimes, love is unconventional and it breaks all the rules and blurs all the lines and basks in its glory, shining as bright as the sun, unapologetically glowing even under the narrowed stares of society and its screaming, self-righteous morals, berating and judging that which it doesn’t understand.”
“If your old man caps me, you better be front and center at my fuckin’ funeral, cryin’ your goddamn eyes out.”
“He looked down at his flaccid cock. "Congratulations," he said. "You've just fucked yourself to death.”
“Life may not always go the way you'd planned, you may not have the perfect family, you may not be the most beautiful, but that doesn't mean you can't make the best of what you do have.”
“You’re my reason, Deuce … You always have been.”
“Jesus. Why couldn’t he have had boys? All boys. Little fucking shits like Cage. A whole slew of ‘em he could throw condoms at and be done with it.”
“Baby,” he said, “listen to me. I ain’t beautiful, you are. You’re so damn beautiful you got it spillin’ out all over the place, blindin’ you into thinkin’ I’m beautiful when I ain’t. Farthest thing from it.”
“Motherfuck,” Deuce muttered, staring after him. “Ten bucks says he fucked that mouthy little asshole. Motherfuckin’ little fuck can’t keep it in his pants for shit. Cocksucker would fuck a hole in the wall. Probably has.”
“Babe,” he whispered. “Can’t look at me like that and expect me to be keepin’ it reeled in.”
“Baby, don’t ever keep it reeled in,” she whispered back. “Not with me.”
“And sometimes, love is unconventional and it breaks all the rules and blurs all the lines and basks in its glory, shining as bright as the sun, unapologetically glowing even under the narrowed stares of society and its screaming, self-righteous morals, berating and judging that which it doesn't understand.”
“FUCK THIS SHIT.
Fuck the club and the code, and fuck brotherhood. He would give it all up for her. For his woman. Because she sure as shit was his, and he’d go to hell and back ten times over before he lost her forever.”
“Danny," Ripper whispered in my ear. "Three songs gone by and there's some old fuckin' bitch makin' statutory rape faces at me.”
“Ripper was my rainstorm, my skin-drenching frenzy, where you couldn’t tell right from left, where all you could feel was the phenomenon exploding throughout your body, feverishly burning through you even as it pleasurably cooled.”
“Perspective is a bitch when it slaps you in the face, after the fact”
“He knew Danny, she was a fucking chatterbox. She was always rambling on and on about music and clothes and some asshat named Chan-a-something Tater Tots.”
“Aw, fuck,” Ripper muttered. Crossing his arms over his chest, the guy leaned back against the doorjamb.
“Danny,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Shit just got real, baby.”
“Oh god, Anabeth,” Ellie muttered. “Your whole life is based around sex.” “So?” she shot back. “It’s better than having sex with fictional characters!” Ellie shot up out of my desk chair. “I do not have sex with fictional characters!” “Oh puh-lease, I’ve seen the books you read, all big muscley men and virginal women and steamy sex. Why else would you read that crap if not to get off?”
“Coulda fuckin’ told me, little sister,” he said quietly. “Would never let you go through all this shit by yourself.”
Grabbing my hand, he threaded his large fingers through mine and squeezed. “This is what big brothers are fuckin’ here for … To pick their little sisters up when they fall the fuck down.”
“I love you,” she cried softly. “No one else, baby, not like this, not the way I’ve always loved you.”
“How much do you love me?” he asked hoarsely …
“You already know,” she whimpered. “You’re everything to me, everything, you always have been, baby…”
“Maybe this is how his miserable life was going to end: death by pussy.
Which when he thought about it, it made sense. It was because of pussy that you came screaming into this world; might as well be pussy that took you out of it.”
“All scares tell a story beautiful girl....mine tell the story of how I found you.”
“No, he didn’t care about anything else in the world except for his woman, the sweetest kid he’d ever met, the smartest too, a kid who’d turned into the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. A woman who didn’t just love with her whole heart but with her body and soul. A woman who time and time again, brought him to his fucking knees, had him prayer to a god he didn’t believe in just so he could keep her by his side.
A woman whose motherfucking smile made the world and his life seem somewhat livable. Even worth it sometimes.”
“This wasn't love. It was hate. And love. That fine line had been destroyed. Mutilated.”
“Next time you call my kid a whore, I will end you, you fuckin’ feel me?”
“Who’s fuckin’ pussy-whipped now, asshat?” Cox laughed over his shoulder. “That would be you, bitch!”
“You did not just call me a bitch!” Mick roared, chasing him.
“Bitch! I fuckin’ did! Bitch!”
“The things this man made me feel just by speaking was unreal. At times I wanted to weep from the sheer sensation of never before experienced feelings that I knew had already wrecked me for any other man.”
“Eva,” he rasped, cupping the back of her head and forcing her to look at him. “Marry me, darlin’.”
“Darlin’, we live in a fuckin’ cesspool of shit and dirty-ass motherfuckers, but if you found somethin’ good and true, somethin’ that you can bank on bein’ there for you when everything else is fallin’ apart around you, whoever it is, I’m good with it.”
“I'm tryin' to figure out whether I'm gonna slap some sense into you or fuck the shit outta you.”
“Children killing children. That's a terrible thing."
"What do you think has gone wrong?"
"It's not just the children. It's the grown-ups too. Some people are growing children, not raising children, and there's a big difference."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, people grow hogs. You give them a place to live, give them all the food they need to keep growing, and make sure that they don't get sick on you. With children you got to raise them. Of course, you feed and clothe them. But a parent has to take the time to teach them right and wrong. A parent has to discipline them. And a parent got to be there to listen to them, help them with their problems. I think most people do their best, but there are some parents these days that are growing children, not raising children.
"It's a sad thing. These children have everything they need to grow up, but they are missing something inside. They must hurt awful bad and no one has shown them the way to live. Buying them their food or even fancy clothes or a car ain't going to help if a child is hurting inside. We all need the same things.”
“A person who has had the misfortune to fall victim to the spell of a philosophical system (and the spells of sorcerers are mere trifles in comparison to the disastrous effect of the spell of a philosophical system!) can no longer see the world, or people, or historic events, as they are; he sees everything only through the distorting prism of the system by which he is possessed. Thus, a Marxist of today is incapable of seeing anything else in the history of mankind other than the “class struggle”.
What I am saying concerning mysticism, gnosis, magic and philosophy would be considered by him only as a ruse on the part of the bourgeois class, with the aim of “screening with a mystical and idealistic haze” the reality of the exploitation of the proletariat by the bourgeoisie…although I have not inherited anything from my parents and I have not experienced a single day without having to earn my living by means of work recognised as “legitimate” by Marxists!
Another contemporary example of possession by a system is Freudianism. A man possessed by this system will see in everything that I have written only the expression of “suppressed libido”, which seeks and finds release in this manner. It would therefore be the lack of sexual fulfillment which has driven me to occupy myself with the Tarot and to write about it!
Is there any need for further examples? Is it still necessary to cite the Hegelians with their distortion of the history of humanity, the Scholastic “realists” of the Middle Ages with the Inquisition, the rationalists of the eighteenth century who were blinded by the light of their own autonomous reasoning?
Yes, autonomous philosophical systems separated from the living body of tradition are parasitic structures, which seize the thought, feeling and finally the will of human beings. In fact, they play a role comparable to the psycho-pathological complexes of neurosis or other psychic maladies of obsession. Their physical analogy is cancer.”
“Your past was your heritage and the foundation on which you were built. You couldn't start over. You could only repair and move on.”
“Claire dropped Willie on the cobbles and caught the girl by the back of her combies as she spun to escape. It was the work of a moment to turn her over her knee and remind her of Newton’s law that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”
“IT IS STARTLING to think that all Europe once looked like this Puszcza. To enter it is to realize that most of us were bred to a pale copy of what nature intended. Seeing elders with trunks seven feet wide, or walking through stands of the tallest trees here—gigantic Norway spruce, shaggy as Methuselah—should seem as exotic as the Amazon or Antarctica to someone raised among the comparatively puny, second-growth woodlands found throughout the Northern Hemisphere. Instead, what’s astonishing is how primally familiar it feels. And, on some cellular level, how complete.”
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