rabbit howls

like something old as we twitch to a lullaby.

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And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
—Lord George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
There’s something fairy-tale-like about it, which is perfect, because fairy tales are all about innocence and ill will and the inevitability of terrible things. They’re all about the moment when the girl is no longer who she was.
—Nina LaCour, Everything Leads to You
She it is, she, that found me
In the morphia honeymoon;
With silk and steel she bound me
In her poisonous milk she drowned me,
Even now her arms surround me.
—Aleister Crowley
Mysteries are feminine;
they like to veil themselves
but still want to be seen
and divined.
—Karl Wilhelm Friedrich Schlegel
Seduction involves the appeal of destroying that which seduces us.
—Georges Bataille, L’érotisme
Witches, like saints, are solitary stars that shine with a light of their own; they depend on nothing and no one, which is why they have no fear and plunge blindly into the abyss with the assurance that instead of crashing to earth, they will fly back out. They can change into birds and see the world from above, or worms to see it from within, they can inhabit other dimensions and travel to other galaxies, they are navigators on an infinite ocean of consciousness and cognition.
—Isabel Allende, Paula
My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them.
—Laurell K. Hamilton, A Stroke of Midnight
The mind creates the abyss,
the heart crosses it.
—Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
The mind is a city like London,
Smoky and populous: it is a capital
Like Rome, ruined and eternal,
Marked by the monuments which no one
Now remembers. For the mind, like Rome, contains
Catacombs, aqueducts, amphitheaters, palaces,
Churches and equestrian statues, fallen, broken or soiled.
The mind possesses and is possessed by all the ruins
Of every haunted, hunted generation’s celebration.
—Delmore Schwartz, Narcissus 
And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.
—Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five