Terry Pratchett, Night Watch (via cheja)There was nothing he could do about the big stuff. The lilac was going to bloom. The revolution was going to happen.
Well … a kind of revolution. That wasn’t really the word for what it was. There was the People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road (Truth! Justice! Freedom! Reasonable priced Love! And a Hard-Boiled Egg!) that would live for all of a few hours, a strange candle that burned too briefly and died like a firework.
“I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and that the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits the depression in your shoulder.”
—Zelda Fitzgerald, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald
(via paulshortie)
And some occasional humility.
