"I guess the moral of the story is that safety is not a place where love prospers. Love is its own shelter and it gives no great concern for mortality but rather it causes the soul to exceed it's mortal boundaries."
The sun had not yet risen. The sea was indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if a cloth had wrinkles in it. Gradually as the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following each other, pursuing each other, perpetually.
Oh, to awake from dreaming! Look, there is the chest of drawers. Let me pull myself out of these waters. But they heap themselves on me; they sweep me between their great shoulders; I am turned; I am tumbled; I am stretched, among these long lights, these long waves, these endless paths, with people pursuing, pursuing.
What does one send to the Lighthouse indeed! At any other time Lily could have suggested reasonably tea, tobacco, newspapers. But this morning everything seemed so extraordinarily queer that a question like Nancy’s—What does one send to the Lighthouse?—opened doors in one’s mind that went banging and swinging to and fro and made one keep asking, in a stupefied gape, What does one send? What does one do? Why is one sitting here, after all? (Woolf)
Thank you for the compliment. :) Yes too bad most of the chicks I know didn't have my foresight as they got older. Hahaha joke's on them!! Shout out to all the guys that made fun of me in high school!!
yes, all is well! heading into a studio this wknd to record a demo so i should have stuff up on myspace mid-week...! crazy. this does not feel like my life. :) tell me you & nicole have both been writing more stuff...?
