Deny A Craving

But whether Mr. Clare has spoken seriously or not, why should she, who could never conscientiously allow any man to marry now, and who had religiously determined that she never would be tempted to do so, draw off Mr. Clare's attention from other women, for the brief happiness of sunning herself in his eyes while he remained at Talbothays?

"Three Leahs to get one Rachel," he whispered.

"They are better women than I," she replied, magnanimously sticking to her resolve.

"Not to me," said Mr. Clare.

He saw her grow warm at this; and they went some steps in silence.

"Do you know that I have undergone three-quarters of this labor entirely for the sake of the fourth quarter?"

"No."

Tess's heart ached. There was no concealing from herself the fact that she loved Mr. Clare, perhaps all the more passionately from knowing that the others had also lost their hearts to him. There is contagion in this sentiment, especially among women. And yet  that same hungry nature had fought against this, but too feeble, and the natural result had followed.

After this disclosure Tess nourished no further foolish thought that there lurked any grave and deliberate import in Clare's attentions to her. It was a passing summer love of her face, for love's own temporary sake - nothing more. And the thorny crown of this sad conception was that she whom he really did prefer in a cursory way to the rest, she who knew herself to be more impassioned in nature, cleverer, more beautiful than they, was in the eyes of propriety far less worthy of him than the homelier ones whom he ignored.

Four months or so of torturous ecstasy in his society - of "pleasure girdled about with pain." After that the blackness of unutterable night...

Forgiveness

You know I never want to let you down. It cuts me up to see you sad. And I wish that I could undo what I've done, get back the faith in me you had. You know I love you more than anyone, but I get a little wrapped up in myself. But you know I never want to do you wrong, bring into question what we have. I know I let you down, but you're giving me a chance.

Ignorance

"Because what's the use of learning that I am one of a long row only - finding out that there is set down in some old book somebody just like me, and to know that I shall only act her part; making me sad, that's all. The best is not to remember that your nature and your past doings have been just like thousands and thousands, and that your coming life and doings will be like thousands and thousands."

"What, really, then, you don't want to learn anything."

"I shouldn't mind learning why - why the sun do shine on the just and the unjust alike," she answered, with a slight quaver in her voice. "But that's what books will not tell me."

Looking Behind My Ruin

On the curve of the nearest hill she looked back regretfully at Marlott and her father's house, although she had been so anxious to get away. Her kindred dwelling there would probably continue their daily lives as heretofore, with no great diminution of pleasure in their consciousness, although she would be far off, and they deprived of her smile. In a few days the children would engage in their games as merrily as ever, without the sense of any gap left by her departure. This leaving of the younger children she had decided to be for the best; were she to remain they would probably gain less good by her precepts than harm by her example.

While there's life there's hope is a conviction not so entirely unknown to the "betrayed" as some amiable theorists would have us believe.

Disappointments

In the ill-judged execution of the well-judged plan of things the call seldom produces the comer, the man to love rarely coincides with the hour for loving. Nature does not often say "See!" to her poor creature at a time when seeing can lead to happy doing; or reply "Here!" to a body's cry of "Where?" till the hide-and-seek has become an irksome, outworn game. We may wonder whether at the acme and summit of the human progress these anachronisms will be corrected by a finer intuition, a closer interaction of the social machinery than that which now jolts us round and along; but such completeness is not to be prophesied, or even conceived as possible. Enough that in the present case, as in millions, it was not the two halves of a perfect whole that confronted each other at the perfect moment; a missing counterpart wandered independently about the earth waiting in crass obtuseness till the late time came. Out of which maladroit delay sprang anxieties, disappointments, shocks, catastrophes, and passing-strange destinies.

She had learnt that the serpent hisses where the sweet birds sing.

The only exercise that Tess took at this time was after dark; and it was then, when out in the woods, that she seemed least solitary. She knew how to hit to a hair's-breadth that moment of evening when the light and the darkness are so evenly balanced that the constraint of day and the suspense of night neutralize each other, leaving absolute mental liberty. It is then that the plight of being alive becomes attenuated to its least possible dimensions. She had no fear of the shadows; her sole idea seemed to be to shun mankind - or rather that cold accretion called the world, which, so terrible in the mass, is so unformidable, even pitiable, in its units.

A wet day was the expression of irremediable grief at her weakness in the mind of some vague ethical being whom she could not class definitely as the God of her childhood, and could not comprehend as any other.

Trapped

"You ever meet someone you can't quite forget?" Lana asked him. "Someone who you meet them and forever after it's like they own a piece of you?"

"No." Quinn said. He felt a little disappointed. "I guess he's a lucky dude."

Lana was so startled, she laughed. "No. Not that kind of guy. Maybe not a guy at all. Maybe not...well a dude the way you mean. More like someone took a fishing hook, right? Like they took that hook and stuck it in me like I was a worm. You know how on the end of a fishhook there's this barb? So you can't pull it out without ripping a big hole in yourself?"

Quinn nodded without really understanding.

"And then, maybe, here's what's weird, right: You almost want the fisherman to reel you in. It's like, okay, you have that hook in me, and it hurts, but I can't get it out, I'm stuck. So just reel me in. Just get it over with and stay out of my dreams because they're all nightmares."

Damn You, Willoughby

"There, exactly there," - pointing with one hand, "on that projecting mound, - there I fell; and there I first saw Willoughby." 

Her voice sunk with the word, but presently reviving she added, 

"I am thankful to find that I can look with so little pain on the spot! Shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?" hesitatingly it was said. "or will it be wrong? I can talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to do." 

Elinor tenderly invited her to be open.

"As for regret," said Marianne, "I have done with that, as far as he is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have been for him, but what they are now."

"How then," asked her sister, "would you account for his behavior?"

"I would suppose him - Oh, how gladly I would suppose him! - only fickle, very, very fickle."

She trembled, her eyes were fixed on the ground, and her lips whiter than even sickness had left them. A thousand inquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge one. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness; her hand, unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister's, and tears covered her cheeks.

Elinor now found the difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may be told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, that in spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope, while Edward remained single, that something would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy; that some resolution of his own, some meditation of his friends, or some more eligible opportunity of establishment for the lady, would arise to assist the happiness of all. But he was now married; and she condemned her heart for the lurking flatter, which so much heightened the pain of the intelligence. What had Edward felt on being within four miles from Barton, on seeing her mother's servant, on hearing Lucy's message! They would soon, she supposed, be settled at Delaford; - Delaford, - that place in which so  much conspired to give her interest; which she wished to be acquainted with, and yet desired to avoid. In Edward, she knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see. Happy or unhappy, nothing pleased her; she turned away her head from every sketch of him.

Were it possible, she must say it must be Edward. She looked again. He had just dismounted; - she could not be mistaken, - it was Edward. She moved away and sat down. "He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I will be calm, I will be mistress of myself." ... He colored and stammered out an unintelligible reply. Elinor's lips had moved with her mother's, and, when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken hands with him too. But it was then too late, and with a countenance meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather. When Elinor has ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place. It was put an end to by Mrs. Dashwood, who felt obliged to hope that he had left Mrs. Ferrars very well. In a hurried manner, he replied in the affirmative. Another pause. Elinor, resolving to exert herself, though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said - "Is Mrs. Ferrars at Longstaple?" ... "Perhaps you mean - my brother - you mean Mrs. - Mrs. Robert Ferrars."

Elinor could sit no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease. Edward, who had till then looked anywhere, rather than at her, saw her hurry away, and perhaps saw, or even heard, her emotion; for immediately afterwards he fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no inquiries, no affectionate address of Mrs. Dashwood would penetrate, and at last, without saying a word, quitted the room, and walked out towards the village, leaving the others in the greatest astonishment and perplexity on a change in his situation, so wonderful and so sudden, - a perplexity which they had no means of lessening but by their own conjectures.

On Willoughby:

For Marriane, however, in spite of his incivility in surviving her loss, he always retained that decided regard which interested him in everything that befell her, and made her his secret standard of perfection in woman; and many a rising beauty would be slighted by him in after-days as bearing no comparison with Mrs. Brandon.

Ivory Tower

I tell all the boys "No," because it makes me feel good. You think I'm out of your league, but that won't scare you away. I've carried on so long that I couldn't stop if I tried it. I've built my wall so high that no one could climb it. But you're gonna try. You let all the girls go; makes you feel good, doesn't it? Behind your Broadway show, I heard a boy say, "Please, don't hurt me." I'm gonna climb on top of your ivory tower. I'll hold your hand and then we'll jump right out. We'll be falling, but that's okay.

Through Your Eyes

"I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I 'never told my love' vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return - the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame - shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mama to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate."

Casablancas

I just nod; I've never been so good at shaking hands. I live on the frozen surface of a fireball, where cities come together to hate each other in the name of sport: America, nothing is ever just anything. I looked up to you, but you thought I would look the other way. And you hear what you want to hear. And they take what they want to take. Don't be sad, it won't ever happen like this anymore. So when's it coming? This life's new great movement that I can join, it won't end here. Your faith has got to be greater than your fear. Forgive them even if they are not sorry, all the vultures, bootleggers at the door waiting. You are looking for your own voice, but in others. While it hears you, it's trapped in another dimension. Drop your guard; you don't have to be smart all of the time. I got a mind full of blanks. I need to go somewhere fast. And don't be shy, at least deliberately. No one really cares or wonders why anymore. I got music coming out of my hands and feet and kisses; that is how it once was done. All the dreamers are on the run. We're so quick to point out our own flaws in others, complicated mammals on the wings of robots. If you believe in this world, no one has died in vain. But don't you dare get to the top and not know what to do.

Dripping From My Pen

This time of night I could call you up. I'd get angry with athletic ease, break common laws in twos and threes.  If I die clutching your photograph, don't call me boring; it's just cause I like you. Take me back to the place where I could feel your heart. Is this the end or just the start of something really, really beautiful, wrapped up and disguised as something really, really ugly? Won't you come by and see me? I'm a love letter away. I'd break your name before I'd say, "I really love you." I don't care if you saw, but I watched every inch of film flash across your Roman features, and I loved it, loved it. I don't care if you think I'm eager to shut your eyes. Well, I'm sorry - everybody knows you can't break me with your gutter prose. Would you believe it, he sent me a letter? The ring, it nearly wears him down: he's got another girl. Steady your ears, read my lips. Poetry is not a luxury, it's how I'll break this home. And when I'm really ill, won't you cradle me? Man is not a noble animal, but maybe woman is. Remember, I heard you inside your room; you said, "You never really live until your back's against the wall." Oh, did you really mean it? I never break my gaze, if just to see this scar remain reflected in your eyes. I think it's time to go home. Oh, tell me your thoughts on liberty. See, there's a place where I sink to sleeping. My vote is as red as my blood. Will you join me for another round? I haven't had the chance to speak yet. God speed... I break the law once every week to feel your touch. What's a book to you in bed? Do you feel better, older? This just makes me ill. Your name is dripping from my pen; still, you're not around to curse. I'll drop the gun now; I'm still under you. Marianne, let the ghosts sleep tonight; just shut your eyes and burn the past away.

No Sense Or Sensibility

Supported by the conviction of having done nothing to merit her present unhappiness and consoled by the belief that he had done nothing to forfeit her esteem, she thought she could even now, under the first smart of the heavy blow, command herself enough to guard every suspicion of the truth from her mother and sisters. And so well was she able to answer her own expectations that when she joined them at dinner only two hours after she had first suffered the extinction of all her dearest hopes, no one would have supposed from the appearance of the sisters that she was mourning in secret over obstacles which must divide her forever from the object of her love and that her sister was internally dwelling on the perfection of a man of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove near their house.

"But still I might not have believed it, for where the mind is perhaps unwilling to be convinced, it will always find something to support its doubts..."

In Case

Pictures in my pocket are faded from the washer; I can barely just make out your face. Food you saved for later in my refrigerator, it's been too long since later never came. I know one day eventually, I'll have to let it all go. But I keep it just in case. In case you don't find what you're looking for, in case you're missing what you had before, in case you change your mind, I'll be waiting here. In case you just want to come home. Strong enough to leave you, but weak enough to need you. Cared enough to let you walk away. In case you're looking in that mirror one day and miss my arms, how they wrapped around you. I say that you can love me again even if it isn't the case.

See, you're calling again. I don't wanna pick up. I've been laying in bed, probably thinking too much. Sorry I'm not sorry for the times I don't reply; you know the reason why. Maybe you shouldn't come back to me. Tired of getting so mad, baby. Stop right now, you'll only let me down. Trying not to forget should be easier than this. Maybe you shouldn't come back to me.

Dear Mother

When I was younger, I told my mother, "One day I'm gonna make you proud." Now that I'm older, it's so much harder to say those out loud. You're growing taller, a little smarter, and one day you're gonna leave home. Oh, will you look like your mother's father when you are fully grown? When I was younger, I asked my father, "Why are we so human?" Now that I'm older, I think I figured it out: we're just doing what we can. Cause I won't lay down. When I was younger, I told my mother, "One day I'm gonna make you proud."

We. Are. Family.

I realized at the last family function that I'm not going to miss any of them. None. I'll miss my little girl, of course, and mom and dad. But the rest of them. And it pissed me off when they all acted like they care that I'm leaving. They don't know me. They don't know how I think of them. I'm related to whores and molesters and thieves and psychotics. And I feel like I'm the crazy one. When I look around at all of them, I once saw the faces of people I used to laugh with and play Barbies with and have sleepovers with, and talk and talk and talk. And now I look at them and I see two dozen unfamiliar faces. I've know every single one of them since birth or since their birth, and yet I go to a fucking family party and it's as if I don't know a soul. I sit alone and I watch them, watch the thin layer of normalcy peel back to reveal the extensive coat of dysfunction beneath. I would never claim to be perfect myself. I get little fits of rage, get a little obsessive compulsive, and I cannot forgive, never mind forgetting. I cannot love outside my circle of those people who have never and will never fail me. Well, except for Ricky, but he's my exception to just about everything. I love my mom despite her lack of complete sanity, I love my dad despite his past dysfunction, and I love my little sister despite, well, nothing. I don't ever want children and people look at me as if I'm a bitch for saying so. But I don't. I know I couldn't make a good mom. And I've got Ryan. Ryan's my kid. That's all I need. And I love Ricky despite him being exactly me, and I don't necessarily love myself. I don't know if I love my older sister. It's hard. I don't hate her anymore. I've accepted that we'll never be close like I wish we could be, like we once had a chance to be. I'm so angry at all of them for letting this show the dysfunction that every family has, but that we were so good at hiding. 

On the night I found out, I held her as she cried and, although my breathing was accelerated, I didn't cry myself. One tear, perhaps, but it was forced. Because I knew that there was so much to be done. I couldn't let myself care. And it is so freeing to be able to do so. I never let myself love him, so his betrayal was nothing. Nothing. I was surprised, but when I heard what my mom told us, I didn't doubt it. Not for a second. I've become so quick to believe the worst in people because that's all I've ever seen. I have firm loyalty to such few people that I don't care when other people deny me or prove my cynicism right. I actually feel better, because I must be doing something right. I don't feel the betrayal or pain or sadness, except for when I sleep. Then the dam breaks but it's fine, because I'm so deeply, so reassuringly asleep. I had to leave my room just now because her fork kept hitting the side of the bowl, over and over and over. I felt anger welling up at her stupidity and had to leave. I have to leave. And for once, I can say that I am leaving. Permanently. 

Spurned.

"I love you, almost in spite of myself. Have I startled you too much?"

"I was startled. I did not know that you cared for me in that way. I  have always thought of you as a friend; and, please, I would rather go on thinking of you so. I don't like spoken to as you have been doing. I cannot answer you as you want me to do, and yet I should feel so sorry if I vexed you."

"Forgive me I have been too abrupt. I am punished. Only let me hope. Give me the poor comfort of telling me you have never seen anyone whom you could-"

"Ah! If you had but never got this fancy into your head! It was such a pleasure to think of you as a friend."

"But I may hope, may I not. that some time you will think of me as a lover? Not yet, I see - there is no hurry -   but some time..."

"I have never thought of you but as a friend. I like to think of you so; but I am sure I could never think of you as anything else. Pray, let us both forget all this" ("disagreeable," she was going to say, but stopped short) "conversation has taken place."

"Of course, as your feelings are so decided, and as this conversation has been so evidently unpleasant to you, it had better not be remembered. That is all very fine in theory, that plan of forgetting whatever is painful, but it will be somewhat difficult for me, at least, to carry it into execution."

She could not answer this. The whole tone of it annoyed her. It seemed to touch on and call out all the points of difference which had often repelled her in him; while yet he was the pleasantest man, the most sympathizing friend...

Oh, Dear

He'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from his knees, make you think he means it this time. He'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair. But I still love him, I don't really care. When we were young, we did enough. When it got cold, we bundled up. I can't be told it can't be done. It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all. The opposite of love's indifference. So pay attention now, I'm standing on your porch screaming out. And I won't leave until you come downstairs. And I don't blame you dear for running like you did all these years; I would do the same. And the highway signs say we're close but I don't read those things anymore. I never trusted my own eyes. So keep your head up, my love.

Forever.

"Damn, my baby's really gone."

I thought about deleting your number today, but I stopped myself. I couldn't just do it there, while I was reading a book, like I was just flipping another page. It just seemed too significant of an action. But I'll do it now. It can't hurt because I've finally let myself let him go. Apparently I've had the ability to do so all along. I just didn't know. I had no idea. I didn't want to know. And I've done it. It's done.

I've got him. "He will understand. If he loves you, he has no choice. For love means forgiveness." "Would you forgive Tessa, if it were her?" "I would forgive Tessa anything."

What Ever Happened?

I want to be forgotten and I don't want to be reminded. You say, "Please, don't make this harder." No. I won't yet. I wanna be beside him. I wanna be admired. You say, "Please, don't make this harder." No. I won't yet. Oh dear, is it really all true? Did they offend us and they want it to sound new? I wait and tell myself, "Life ain't chess." But no one comes in and yes, you're alone. You don't miss me, I know. I come together in the middle of the night, Oh, that's an ending that I can't write because I've got you to let me down.  And you say, "Please, don't make this harder." No, I won't yet.

Give 'Em Hell, Kid

"Must I go bound while you go free? Must I love a man who doesn't love me? Must I be born with so little art as to love a man who'll break my heart?"

If you were here I'd never have a fear. So go on; live your life. But I miss you more that I did yesterday. You're so far away. So show me how because I mean this more than words can say. You're beautiful! Well, I'm a total wreck and almost every day, like the firing squad or the mess you made. Well, don't I look pretty walking down the street in the best damn dress I own? Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you say. We are young and we don't care. We never wanted it to be this way for all our lives. Do you care at all? I mean this more than words can ever say. What'd you call me? Well, there's no way I'm kissing that guy.

Every Since I Was A Child...

It's a bile that rises in my throat at the shortest notice. The smallest thing could disrupt my day, throw it out of the narrow course I had planned. And suddenly, I'm Mr. Hyde, on a rampage, furious. I'm ready to slit the throat of anyone who crosses me. Anyone. It's not anger. It's a fury, a tangible fury, that I can feel in the very pit of my stomach. Rising like stomach acid, ready to spew out at the first inconvenience. I've been good for a while so this feels strange. Today, it was the laundry, a bouncing ball, an open door, and a cigarette that set me off. But I breathed through it and kicked my drawer. It's also Mother's Day, so I need to relax. Relax. Breathe.

Over the love of you.

Time Isn't Healing

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end;

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do content.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth

And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:

And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,

Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

6/365

I see why she loves you, or likes you, or clings to you, or whatever. How could she not? You are one exceptional individual. My sister had a "best friend" that she met her junior year. My sister never was able to hold onto friends very long, for reasons undisclosed, but this girl finally seemed like she would accept my sister no matter what. Then they stopped talking after just a year over something stupid, and wouldn't talk again for another two years. After which they would hate each other again, and then finally become cordial. I met my best friend junior year and we have been best friends every since. We finally had a small fight over something stupid and we didn't talk for six days. After which I got a text saying, "I'm sorry I've been ignoring you. You mean the world to me..." And now we're back to being us. If I fight with someone, I'm so pissed I could go without talking to them for years. But him, six days. Six.

"I've been led on to think that we've been trying for too long. Every time we drift, we're forcing what is wrong. At last that voice is gone. Please take your time. But you've got to know that I am taking sides. Oh, you look good with your patient face and wandering eye. Don't hold this war inside. You left your home; you're so far from everything you know. Your big dream is crashing down and out your door; wake up and dream once more. Come back when you can. Let go, you'll understand. You've done nothing at all to make me love you less. So come back when you can. Come back, I'll help you stand. Let go and hold my hand. If all you wanted was me, then I'd give you nothing less. So come back when you can."

I Have Seen It In Your Eyes

"I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul...Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent forever. I have had uniformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing..."

I've Missed You♥

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you. You mean the world to me so I shouldn't ever treat you like that...I don't care what she thinks. You're my best friend and it's not like she's gonna get in the way of that. She knows I'm not gonna choose between you because I care about you both..."

Solace

I'm very unusual. When I see my sister or other people get a text message from someone they like, or of something that they know will be particularly interesting, they open and read it right away, thinking of their reply as they do so. With fingers as rapid as lightning, the reply is written and sent without hesitation. I, on the other hand, do not open it for nearly ten minutes later. Is that cowardly? I throw my phone away from me and let it sit there. It draws my eyes like a car accident. As I browse through different things on my phone, I am so completely aware of the little red "1" that sits next to the message icon. Like it makes any difference at all. Eventually I'll have to read it, and when I do I'll have to face what it says. But those ten extra minutes provide me with just ten more minutes of peace, of calm, of normalcy, like the ten minutes prior to a girl being told her lover has been killed.