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Quote by Gaston Leroux

“Sometimes, Mamma Valerius would come and listen behind the door, wipe away a tear and go downstairs on tiptoe, sighing for her Scandinavian skies.”

Author

Gaston Leroux

Gaston Leroux (1868–1927) was a French journalist, novelist, and playwright, best known for writing the gothic thriller "The Phantom of the Opera" published in 1910. Beginning his career as a court reporter and theater critic, he later devoted himself to fiction, producing over 40 novels. "The Phantom of the Opera" became his most enduring work, captivating readers with its mysterious atmosphere and romantic tension. In addition to this masterpiece, he authored "The Mystery of the Yellow Room," considered one of the first locked-room mysteries. Leroux's storytelling skill and vivid imagination significantly influenced the development of detective and horror fiction. His works have been adapted countless times for stage, film, and television, making him one of the most widely read French authors of the early 20th century. He died in Nice on April 15, 1927. more

“And the priests looked down into the pit of injustice and they turned their faces away and said, 'Our kingdom is not as the kingdom of this world. Our life on earth is but a pilgrimage. The soul lives on humility and patience,' at the same time screwing the poor from their last centime. They settled down among their treasures and ate and drank with princes and to the starving they said, 'Suffer. Suffer as he suffered on the cross for it is the will of God.' And anyone believes what they hear over and over again, so the poor instead of bread made do with a picture of the bleeding, scourged, and nailed-up Christ and prayed to that image of their helplessness. And the priests said, 'Raise your hands to heaven and bend your knees and bear your suffering without complaint. Pray for those that torture you, for prayer and blessing are the only stairways which you can climb to paradise.' And so they chained down the poor in their ignorance so that they wouldn't stand up and fight their bosses who ruled in the name of the lie of divine right.”

God Religion Suffering Heaven Christ Class Poverty Power Ignorance Injustice Hypocrisy Manipulation Divine Right The Poor The Rich

Book:The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade

Source: The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade

“One day, you won’t miss her. All right, but how are you so sure about it? Do sunsets have an expiration date? Does the ocean get rid of water over time? Do flowers eventually start hating the colour of their petals? Do birds grow to loathe their wings? In love, your soul turn into a beautiful design on the quilt called life. Your heart becomes a studio that only has room for music. Love doesn’t come with an expiration date. Just because someone stopped loving you, it doesn’t mean you’ll stop loving them too”

Heartache Flowers

Book:Thank You for Leaving

Source: Thank You for Leaving

“I just wanted to say—” Alaric broke off. What did he want to say? Talasyn blinked up at him. “Yes?” I am sorry for everything. I liked writing to you. I won’t let my father hurt you. I know we agreed that it’s simply physical attraction between us, but sometimes—sometimes I think— Ever since we met, I have lived in a dream of what could be. But he could never tell her any of this.”

Love Heartache Yearning Alaric Talasyn

Book:A Monsoon Rising

Source: A Monsoon Rising

“You came into my life without knocking, like an unexpected breeze on a quiet evening, and left it without a goodbye, leaving behind a void I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life.”

Heart Pain Suffering Missing Longing Memory Heartache Goodbye Void Breeze

Author:Shahid Hussain Raja

“The Dagger in the Heart You seem so calm, the sea before a storm, still in the hush before the waves arise. But then—a memory drifts through your mind, a fleeting touch of kindness long ago, the quiet smile of someone in a café, her laughter caught in sunlight, soft and bright. A yellow tulip, trembling in your hands, tucked in her hair, as golden as the dawn. An old slip of paper, edges curling thin, her number scrawled in ink now blurred with time— and all at once, the stillness breaks apart. Some words remain, though years have worn their sound, like daggers lodged too deep within the heart. They never twist, they never pull away, but linger there, a whisper in the dark, a wound unclosed, a shadow breathing near. No matter where you turn, they echo back, the syllables that cut and left their scar, a voice that lingers long after it's gone.”