teacup-in-a-storm

[teacup-in-a-storm]

Sometimes you just gotta say. in another time, it would have been you

[teacup-in-a-storm]

The pitifulest thing out is a mob (...) they don’t fight with courage that’s born in them, but with courage that’s borrowed from their mass, and from their officers.

Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn

[teacup-in-a-storm]

it is okay, i guess. i just wish you weren’t so obvious that i’m not the one you miss. i just wish i didn’t always have to be the first one to text. i just wish when you said “okay, i’m going to bed” you meant - speak to you in the morning instead of “i will turn around and you’ll be out of my head.” i just wish, you know. we were on the same page about what love meant.

[teacup-in-a-storm]

A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason.

- Thomas Paine, Common Sense

[teacup-in-a-storm]

You have waited for me past the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, past each of Saturn's rings. It's ridiculous, so stupid, I know, to cross the entire solar system just to hear you and Galina butcher Tchaikovsky. If ever there was an utterance of perfection, it is this. If God has a voice, it is ours. The calcium in the collarbones I have kissed. The iron in our blood flushing those cheeks. We imprint our intimacies upon atoms born from an explosion so great it still marks the emptiness of space. A shimmer of photons bears the memory across the long, dark amnesia. We will be carried too, mysterious particles that we are. In what dream does the empty edge of the Universe hold this echo of vitality? In what prayer does the last human not die alone? Who would have imagined you would be with me, here, so far from life on Earth, so filled with its grace?

- Anthony Marra, The Tsar of Love and Techno

[teacup-in-a-storm]

“Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is.

Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and, when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.” -Louis de Bernières, Corelli’s Mandolin

📷ig: @optionmag

[teacup-in-a-storm]

Go then if you must, but remember, no matter how foolish your deeds, those who love you will love you still.

Sophocles, Antigone (via books-n-quotes)

[teacup-in-a-storm]

I'm not brave any more, darling. I'm all broken. They've broken me. I know it now.

- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

[teacup-in-a-storm]

sounds for the houses:

Gryffindor:

the quiet crackle of fire in a warm room

her laughter after you finally kissed her

the first bird of the morning in a tent you set up by yourself

a train rolling by 

“i knew you could do it”

fall leaves underfoot

the soft padding of a wildcat

a tornado that’s too close for comfort

yelling yourself hoarse

hoofbeats

Hufflepuff:

the quiet chime of the oven timer 

shifting your legs in clean bedclothes

lazy summer afternoons, cicadas in the distance

“i’ll wait for you.”

her happy gasp when she sees you

the shush of ribbon around a giftbox

sifting flour

an empty echo in a dark canyon

drumrolls

purring

Slytherin:

the tapping of long nails on good wood

waves on a pebble shore

a crowd chanting your name

“you were right.”

her happy sigh when you pull her closer

the soft shush of a dancer’s feet 

good shoes clicking on tile floors

wolfpack howls

the silence of a snowy midnight 

a good engine idling

Ravenclaw:

rain on windowpanes

old leather creaking

the quiet strum of a guitar

quietly whispered poetry

good coffee machines

a paintbrush on fresh canvas

“that’s an incredibly good idea”

footfalls on library carpets

the inhale of her breath when she ducks her nose into an old book

wingbeats

[teacup-in-a-storm]

the poets were wrong. you don’t burn and there are no tornadoes in your chest, your hands don’t hold galaxies or stars and your anger isn’t a volcanic god ready to smite every enemy. the moon doesn’t love you and neither do the stars, but the earth does, in its own way, i guess. see, you are human, my dear, born to destroy and to take and to make, born to learn and to watch. you observe the stars; they do not observe you. you run from tornadoes or you chase them, you do not become them. your anger is just anger an emotion to control or be controlled by; volcanoes can stay dormant for years but you are never still. and why would the moon love you? why would the stars? they are too far away to be swayed by a pretty face, but the earth lives under your feet, it feels you dance to the beat it drums out in thunder and rain. you are human, fragile and while your skin is weak your heart beats strong. it might not hold hurricanes but it does hold love, and this can be just as deadly. your anger won’t ever level cities but it can topple friendships and they amount to the same thing. the poets were wrong. you are not out of this world, you are of it and beloved to it, and you are still special.

HUMAN NATURE // l.s.

[teacup-in-a-storm]

The Gawgon and the Boy

Gawgon: You didn't kiss me good-bye.

The Boy: I couldn't. It wasn't you.

Gawgon: Quite right. It wasn't.

The Boy: Are you a ghost? A duppy?

Gawgon: Of course not.

The Boy: But- but- what are you? Where did you go after-

Gawgon: Nowhere. I never went away from you. Did you suppose I would? I'm in your imagination. You're making me up as you go along.

The Boy: Then... you're all right?

Gawgon: Yes, I'm all right. And so are you.

[teacup-in-a-storm]

But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both.

Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye, “An Origin Story” (via wordsnquotes)

[teacup-in-a-storm]

Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round the bright fire, and thank God they were at home; and for the homeless starving wretch to lay him down and die. Many hunger-worn outcasts close their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let their crimes have been what they may, can hardly open them in a more bitter world.

 - Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

[teacup-in-a-storm]

Men who look on nature, and their fellow-men, and cry that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right; but the sombre colours are reflections from their own jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are delicate, and need a clearer vision.

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

[teacup-in-a-storm]

I wish as well as every body else to be perfectly happy, but like every body else it must be in my own way.

 - Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

[teacup-in-a-storm]

I have frequently detected myself in such kind of mistakes... in a total misapprehension of character at some point or other: fancying people so much more gay or grave, or ingenious or stupid than they really are, and I can hardly tell why, or in what the deception originated. Sometimes one is guided by what other people say of them, without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.

 - Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

[teacup-in-a-storm]

...she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition.

- Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility