There is always time to look

I am on a photoshopping spree.

Example: CaMel Gibson

“Our sweet illusions are half of them conscious illusions, like effects of colour that we know to be made up of tinsel, broken glass, and rags.”

-George Eliot, The Lifted Veil

“The pale-green dress, and the green leaves that seemed to form a border about her pale blond hair, made me think of a Water-Nixie,—for my mind was full of German lyrics, and this pale, fatal-eyed woman, with the green weeds, looked like a birth from some cold, sedgy stream, the daughter of an aged river.”

-George Eliot, The Lifted Veil

“The End is appointed; the End is drawing us on—and Anne Catherick, dead in her grave, points the way to it still!”

-Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White

“You are too apt to make the strength of your lines consist more in the words than sense.”

-Matthew Lewis, The Monk

“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter—they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

-Sylvia Plath

“That’s one of the reasons I never wanted to get married. The last thing I wanted was infinite security and to be the place an arrow shoots off from. I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.”

-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamt that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

-Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

-Albert Einstein

“I do not love; I do not love anybody but myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit. I have none of the selfless love of my mother. I have none of the plodding, practical love…I am, to be blunt and concise, in love only with myself, my puny being with its small breasts and meager, thin talents. I am capable of affection for those who reflect my own world.”

-Sylvia Plath