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Quote by Emory R. Frie

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Realm of the Snow Queen

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Emory R. Frie

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“Sophia recognised the innocence of his intentions no matter how many times they made her bleed. She'd fallen for him, blinded by the light that he'd shone in her eyes. Blinded by the warm sensation of love inside her that was stronger than any other feeling. Stronger than the times when he would pierce her soul with insecurities and paranoia, when he would lock her in the dark and make her feel like she was unworthy. Unworthy of light, unworthy of him.”

LoveLightDarknessAnxietyThoughtsNarcissismInsecureParanoia
Book:The Colours of Denial
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“She thought all was good. She was feeling really really happy actually. Though not surprisingly, It only took a matter of five words to make her feel as though her metaphoric beautiful wings had been torn off and shredded. Discarded in a pit among other wings that suffered the same fate. Echoes of words spoken ring through her head. Another sleepless night. Another sadness filled her heart, and where once that light was burning bright in her chest, a blown out candle remains.”

LifeDarknessSadnessDepressionAbuseAloneEmptinessLonliness
Author:Jennifer D. Whipple
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“The night is the frenetic fox darting across a roadway in a flash of orange. It is being tailed by the police for a whole fucking mile, with both hands firmly wrapped about the steering wheel. It is spying a shooting star blinking across the horizon, and everybody saying did- you-see-that. The bustling truck-stops. and the blotter- dark nights, when driving safely seems difficult. The fush-fush of cars speeding ahead in an overpass highway. The bloated raccoon knocking the garbage cans over and the waddling lamp-eyed possum strolling past, within a few feet even, as you sit on the front porch and smoke. It is drunken talk at 1 AM, conversation of substance, depth and style, when all errant ideas are concocted. It is fanning motor-heat lathering the chest and skinny legs in the cold car. Sudden, abrupt episodes of fatigue that make you retire to bed earlier than usual. This is the night given to snapshot, light-bath revelations that sends one running for notepad and pen, and repeating, out loud, the premise over and over as you stride. The night is a strange, curdling scream at 3 am, wondering if it is a cat, a coyote, a baby.”

DarknessThe Night
Book:Tropic of Wonder
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