All right I think we've been down here in the dark long enough. There's a whole other world upstairs. Take my hand Constant Reader and I'll be happy to lead you back into the sunshine. I'm happy to go there because I believe most people are essentially good. I know that I am. It's you I'm not entirely sure of.
I used to live my life at night in the shadow of my dark past, I lived in shadows for so long until the dark became my world, but then you came and flipped on a light, at first I was blinded, It was so bright, but over time my eyes adjusted and I could see and now whats in focus is our future, bright, brighter than it's ever been
I’ve succumbed to the absolute power of the man that pulls, culls, calls my unwitting submission. And I’ve embraced the power of my submission to draw him in further, to have him kneeling and worshiping what he’s conquered. I’ve known surrender and strength with him. True freedom. And a hell of a lot of orgasms.
Think of being curled up and floating in a darkness. Even if you could think, even if you had an imagination, would you ever imagine its opposite, this miraculous world the Asian Taoists call the "Ten Thousand Things"? And if the darkness just got darker? And then you were dead? What would you care? How would you eve know the difference?
Just as there are two sides to every story, there are two sides to every person. One that we reveal to the world and another we keep hidden inside. A duality governed by the balance of light and darkness. Within each of us is the capacity for both good and evil. But those of us who are able to blur the moral dividing line hold the true power.
I picture the vast realm of the sciences as an immense landscape scattered with patches of dark and light. The goal towards which we must work is either to extend the boundaries of the patches of light, or to increase their number. One of these tasks falls to the creative genius; the other requires a sort of sagacity combined with perfectionism.
The recognition of his carelessness filled Mr. Lecky with fear and anger. In the dusk his eerie heart could anticipate the hours of terror which he had laid up for himself. Sounds, real or imaginary, the silences and secrets of the night, the working of his own mind, skilled in cruel illusion and rich in evil fancy, would find him without recourse.
Fog does trap me to the Earth,For gravity no longerHolds me like the dark things do,Their will and brawn is stronger.Birds just may bypass these cloudsTo cower under starsWho shoot and lasso each of themIn ties as strong as ours.Wings soon broke now joining usDoes God know who we are?Because we don't, we rub the ropesLike cats, and won't go far.
It's not fair. It's not fair that he lets his rage take over, that he lets it rule him. I don't know why he has to let it rule him. I don't know why he has to be two people. I don't know why he gets to be two people, and I only get to be me, the one who is here to take what he has to give, and who is here to pick pu the pieces afterward.
Wanna make a monster? Take the parts of yourself that make you uncomfortable — your weaknesses, bad thoughts, vanities, and hungers — and pretend they’re across the room. It’s too ugly to be human. It’s too ugly to be you. Children are afraid of the dark because they have nothing real to work with. Adults are afraid of themselves.
My friend wants to get moving and so do I,' Eddie said. 'We've got miles to go yet.'I know that. It's on your face, son. Like a scar.'Eddie was fascinated by the idea of duty and ka as something that left a mark, something that might look like decoration to one eye and disfigurement to another. Outside, thunder cracked and lightning flashed.
Goodbye my friend, goodbye my love, you're in my heartIt was preordained that we should part,and be united by and by, united by and by.Goodbye no handshake to endure.Now there's nothing.It was written in bloodIt was written in bloodIt was written in bloodOh god, written in bloodIt was written in bloodIt was written in bloodOh my god, it was written in blood
Low ceiling, stone walls, a dirt floor stamped with paw prints. I never go in without announcing myself. 'Hyaa!' I yell. 'Hyaa. Hyaa!' It's the sound my father makes when entering his toolshed, the cry of cowboys as they round up dogies, and it suggests a certain degree of authority. Snakes, bats, weasels --it's time to head up and move on out.
Isn't it funny. I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. Love is tempermental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you. Changes its mind..... But hatred, now. That's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but hatred cradels you. It's so soothing. I feel infinetly better now
Suddenly exhausted, she closes her eyes and slips into nightmares again. Graveyards rising out of the ocean. Her friends’ corpses in the light of their burning school. Skeletons ripping open men's chests and crawling inside. She endures it patiently, waiting for the horror film to end and the theater to go dark, those precious few hours of blackout that are her only respite.
