aclassicalmess's Reviews (165)

Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give plastic form to formless things, and to have music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! How was there anything so real as words?

“There is no story that is not true,” said Uchendu. “The world has no end, and what is good among one people is an abomination with others.”

You were supposed to be a night terror made of smoke, not a man of flesh and bone who left footsteps in the dirt.

Love is violence my darling; it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world, More often than not, love ends in tragedy, but we go on loving in the hope that this time it will be different.

I craved you the way maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for annihilation in your kiss.

Then I shattered, everything I was rupturing into stars and galaxies and comets, nothing but pure, shining joy. 

“ Isn’t there something in living dangerously?”

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity —but that would be asking too much of fate!