Moi meme: 1/15 movies

A royal affair:I think some people are so sealed inside their fate that they hide deep within their mind.” 

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Are we not all things?

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He leaned against the window, and the gilded frame came into sharp focus. “Do you think it would be any different with your tracked beside you? With that Lantsov pup?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
“Because you would be the strong one?”
“Because they’re better men than you.”
“You might make me a better man.”
“And you might make me a monster.”
“I never understood this taste for otkazat’sya. Is it because you thought you were one of them for so long?”
“I had a taste for you, once.” His head snapped up. He hadn’t expected that. Saints, it was satisfying.

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A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that’s just how the world will come to an end: to general applause from wits who believe it’s a joke. —Soren Kierkegaard, Either/Or (via tierradentro)

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No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath.

“Aleksander,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten.

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A lot is being said today about the influence that the myths and images of women have on all of us who are products of culture. I think it has been a peculiar confusion to the girl or woman who tries to write because she is peculiarly susceptible to language. She goes to poetry or fiction looking for her way of being in the world, since she too has been putting words and images together; she is looking eagerly for guides, maps, possibilities; and over and over in the ‘words’ masculine persuasive force’ of literature she comes up against something that negates everything she is about: she meets the image of Woman in books written by men. She finds a terror and a dream, she finds a beautiful pale face, she finds La Belle Dame Sans Merci, she finds Juliet or Tess or Salomé, but precisely what she does not find is that absorbed, drudging, puzzled, sometimes inspired creature, herself, who sits at a desk trying to put words together. —Adrienne Rich, “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision” (via leopoldgursky)

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And again she felt alone in the presence of her old antagonist, life. —Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse (via innaudiblemelodiess)

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F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

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