The boy wide-eyed with wonder had long ceased to exist; a hazy ghost of him sometimes appeared in Corso’s memory, between the pages of a book, in a smell or a sound, or through a dark window with the rain from another country beating against it, outside in the night.
Source: Arturo Pérez-Reverte, The Club Dumas (via portionsofeternity)
Like a magpie, I am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales, dead languages, weird folk beliefs, fascinating religions, and more.
But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.
Did you hear them talking? Yes, yes you did. Did their opinion matter? Perhaps a little, perhaps not at all. Now, do you hear your own voice? Yes, yes; only to this shiny, fragile string of dreams you shall respond to.
Her mind was as the landscape outside when dark beneath clouds and straitly lashed by wind and hail.
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