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Just in Love

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Dian Nafi

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“It don’t matter. I own you, Pippin. I claimed you. Even gave you my cut. Remember the patches? The property of Creed? Any of that a trigger to you? No one can come between our love, not even your fuckin’ mind. I’ll spend the rest of my life remindin’ you what you mean to me if I have to. Ain’t lettin’ you go. I will always, always fuckin’ love you. And no one can take that away from me. Not even you.” Creed Jameson”

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Author:M. Robinson
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“It was a long head. It was a wedge, a sliver, a grotesque slice in which it seemed the features had been forced to stake their claims, and it appeared that they had done so in a great hurry and with no attempt to form any kind of symmetrical pattern for their mutual advantage. The nose had evidently been first upon the scene and had spread itself down the entire length of the wedge, beginning among the grey stubble of the hair and ending among the grey stubble of the beard, and spreading on both sides with a ruthless disregard for the eyes and mouth which found precarious purchase. The mouth was forced by the lie of the terrain left to it, to slant at an angle which gave to its right-hand side an expression of grim amusement and to its left, which dipped downwards across the chin, a remorseless twist. It was forced by not only the unfriendly monopoly of the nose, but also by the tapering character of the head to be a short mouth; but it obvious by its very nature that, under normal conditions, it would have covered twice the area. The eyes in whose expression might be read the unending grudge they bore against the nose were as small as marbles and peered out between the grey grass of the hair. This head, set at a long incline upon a neck as wry as a turtle's cut across the narrow vertical black strip of the window. Steerpike watched it turn upon the neck slowly. It would not have surprised him if it had dropped off, so toylike was its angle. As he watched, fascinated, the mouth opened and a voice as strange and deep as the echo of a lugubrious ocean stole out into the morning. Never was a face so belied by its voice. The accent was of so weird a lilt that at first Steerpike could not recognize more than one sentence in three, but he had quickly attuned himself to the original cadence and as the words fell into place Steerpike realised he was staring at a poet.”

GormenghastSteerpikeMervyn Peake
Book:Titus Groan
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“We need to appreciate that being different is not the same as being wrong. A ‘wrong’ answer is just a different answer, a different perspective which could be used to address the issue differently. Unfortunately, our obsession with the ‘right’ answer makes it difficult to see the importance of an alternative answer.”

AlternativesDifferent PerspectiveRight Wrong
Book:The Failure Project -The Story Of Man's Greatest Fear
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