Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own. In pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken it would be my treasure still; if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a straight waistcoat. Your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me; if you flew at me wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive; I should not shrink from you with disgust, as I did from her. In your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you have me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray for recognition for me.
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (via larmoyante)
(via yunzi)
› 10 Latin Phrases You Pretend to Understand
nevver:
- 1. Caveat Emptor
(KAV-ee-OT emp-TOR): “Let the buyer beware”
- 2. Persona Non Grata
(puhr-SOH-nah non GRAH-tah): “An unacceptable person”
- 3. Habeas Corpus
(HAY-bee-as KOR-pus): “You have the body”
- 4. Cogito Ergo Sum
(CO-gee-toe ER-go SOME): “I think, therefore I am”
- 5. E Pluribus Unum
(EE PLUR-uh-buhs OOH-nuhm): “Out of many, one”
- 6. Quid Pro Quo
(kwid proh KWOH): “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours”
- 7. Ad Hominem
(ad HAH-mi-nem): “To attack the man”
- 8. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam
(ad-MA-yor-em DAY-ee GLOR-ee-um): “All for the Greater Glory of God”
- 9. Memento Mori
(meh-MEN-toh MOR-ee): “Remember, you must die”
- 10. Sui Generis
(SOO-ee JEN-er-is): “Of its own genus,” or “Unique and unable to classify”
Definitions
› lets run away
i feel this way on the daily…
She never gives a straight answer, always hiding behind a curtain of vague words and round about phrases. She walks in circles, always just out of reach. They call her manipulative, evasive, always twisting what people say to suit her needs, but she’s not like that, not really. She just doesn’t know how not to speak in riddles, how not to build mazes and paradoxical labyrinths with every word she says, because it’s so ingrained into every fiber of her being. It’s a defense mechanism, really, more than anything. When people attack her, when they laugh and scoff at her, she withdraws within herself and spits out sentences that seem to mean everything and nothing all at once. It’s a defense mechanism, because if they can’t find her behind the haziness she’s constructed around herself, they can’t touch her, can’t even hurt her, even if sometimes they’re right when they call her pretentious or false or deceitful. It’s hard to tell which started the other, if she’s like this because they pick apart at her or if they scratch at her until her heart bleeds because she makes mazes. Her life is something of a web of intricacies just like her speech, but she doesn’t know how to do differently, doesn’t know how to stop.
Isabella Sunday (via flowerlilies)
(Source: larmoyante, via yunzi)