booklover
…my Lolita remarked: “You know, what’s so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own”; and it struck me, as my automaton knees went up and down, that I simply did not know a thing about my darling’s mind and that quite possibly, behind the awful juvenile cliches, there was in her a garden and a twilight, and a palace gate - dim and adorable regions which happened to be lucidly and absolutely forbidden to me, in my polluted rags and miserable convulsions…
Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)
fables-of-the-reconstruction
I’d emerge from my personal darkness for a second and then plunge into it again as though nothing had happened. I felt at ease in my black thoughts, safe from my torments, out of reach of troublesome questions, alone inside my rage, which was digging channels in my veins and merging with the fibers of my being.
Yasmina Khadra, The Sirens of Baghdad. Vintage, 2008 (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

Please tell me a story about a girl who gets away.”

I would, even if I had to adapt one, even if I had to make one up just for her. “Gets away from what, though?”

"From her fairy godmother. From the happy ending that isn’t really happy at all. Please have her get out and run off of the page altogether, to somewhere secret where words like ‘happy’ and ‘good’ will never find her."

"You don’t want her to be happy and good?"

"I’m not sure what’s really meant by happy and good. I would like her to be free. Now. Please begin.”

Helen Oyeyemi, White is for Witching