'How long shall I write of my aching heart? Come! I will show my Beloved/ My wounded fingers, my pen dripping blood.'

He wondered if home was a thing that happened to a place after a while, or if it was something that you found in the end; if you simply walked and waited and willed it long enough.

I have a very strong feeling Blatasar Garcián was a hardcore Slytherin.

I was glad for the silence—even as it became a weight on me, even if it filled my head until there was nothing inside of it beyond... emptiness.
Eternity. Was this to be my eternity?
I was burning through books every day—stories about people and places I'd never heard of. They were perhaps the only thing that kept me from teetering into utter despair.

The world will be saved and remade by the dreamers.

She was a pendulum that carelessly swung between fountains of apprehensiveness-anxiety -fear and fearless-carefree-untroubled seas.

The despair in books was a distant, safe thing. She‘d thought she understood the depth of the emotion as she read through the pages of her beloved books, her life touching those of men and women long dead. She‘d felt for them, cried for them, tried to breathe for them when they no longer breathed. And then, she‘d been able to close the book and place it on its shelf, the words trapped between the leather covers.

I think the biggest difference between fiction and non-fiction is the reality of the monster they hold. In fiction, you know that the chances of these monster coming to life are very slim. But non-fiction doesn't offer the same relief. The monsters in these books are very real and walk among us, wearing human skin. They look like us, walk like us, talk like us. These are the kind that keep you up at night, wondering. #JustMyThoughts

I don't know how i feel about this book tbh. It started off so good and i got my hopes up but by the middle of Part two it started going downhill and became extremely boring.

Nevertheless, it is beautifully written and the characters are very well-developed. I enjoyed reading the back-stories.

Other than that, the references to hindu gods and goddesses and my absolute zero previous knowledge regarding the topic made it kind of hard to read.

'My grief clings like small hooks to the pores of my skin. They love me passionately. I long for them to swallow me, to be obliterated in their embrace. Or for them to shrivel up and drop dead, leaving me free to breathe again.'

So beautifully written. 😍

Somebody help me. I CANT STOP READING THIS BOOK!!!

'No matter what happens, no matter who turns on me, no matter what pompous swine thinks he has power over me, I am still me. I will always be me.' 💪

#currentreading. I absolutely adore World War II historical fiction.