, ,

30 Day Challenge


Day 15 — What’s your favourite quote?




I don’t have a favourite, but here are some of the most recent additions to the documents full of quotes that I have been keeping since I was 13…




And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades

That drag the tragic melancholy night;

Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings

Clip dead men’s graves, and from their misty jaws

Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.

~William Shakespeare


That passage makes me think of thestrals…some of my favourite creatures from the Harry Potter world.



We become habituated to anything strange by use and time; but the more I frequent myself and know myself, the more my deformity astonishes me, and the less I understand myself.



I feel that way about myself all the time, especially in regard to my Wolf.



The last words a person spoke were ordinarily charged with the presumption of absolute honesty: there was no longer any room for equivocation, no longer any hope of deferral, no longer any distance between the self and whatever judgment lies beyond the grave. This was, in the most literal sense, the moment of truth.

~Stephen Greenblatt


I wonder about things like this sometimes…about whether the truth will really come out of a person when he faces the end. I wonder about myself and whether what would come out of me will be what I would say on any given day, or whether I would find out that it’s something else entirely. I have deep fears that I don’t know all about myself. I wish I did though, so I could not worry that I would surprise myself.



…graves at my command

Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let ’em forth

By my so potent art.

~William Shakespeare


Zombies, man. In Shakespeare.



As we walked along the winding paths, I had a thought. It was a little thought, spoken by a little internal voice, like the one that asks you if you are afraid of it and you say no and it says if you ever try to get rid of me you will live to regret it.

~The Harvard Lampoon


This is the way my Wolf talks to me sometimes. But he knows better than to think I would get rid of him, so it’s kind of a sorry joke I have with myself…



Internet. An interesting word. Like something brought up from the deep. A net for something that has been interred, or something as yet to be interred; a holding-place for all the things we’d rather keep secret in our real lives.

~Joanne Harris

This is why we’re all here on Xanga, right?