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Quote by Sasha Harding

“It was in times like these I wondered if dying could be a peaceful thing. I'd been cooped up the last few days, struggling with the flu—or at least, that was what I thought it was. My nose felt like a delicate piece of china, one sneeze away from shattering me completely. My throat? Violated. And not in a way that could be mistaken for pleasurable.”

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Sasha Harding

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“The thing about studying ancient history is that it rips away the comforting illusions of progress. People love to think we've evolved, that we've left behind the savagery of our ancestors. But have we? Sure, we've built taller buildings, faster machines, systems so complex I can't even begin to comprehend them. But at our core, we're still the same selfish, short-sighted creatures we've always been.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyHistoryRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
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“Halloween was the worst offender, the one day of the year when people revealed the faces they wished they could wear every day. Heroes, villains, sexed-up archetypes—costumes that screamed what they wanted to be, what they couldn't admit they were. It was funny how the tide had turned. Growing up, we cheered for the heroes. They were brave, just, and invincible. But now? Now, everyone rooted for the villains. Villains weren't born evil. They were shaped by pain and rejection. They were the ones who had suffered, the ones people could relate to. Heroes endured tragedy, but villains were tragedy. We could see ourselves in their fractures.”

PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalHeroIsolationExistentialismVillain
Author:Sasha Harding
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“Tears began to fall, hot and relentless, tracing tracks down my face. I didn't even try to stop them. I didn’t even know why I was crying. Maybe it was the pain. The tears kept coming, a relentless tide. My throat ached, my head pounded, and my body felt like it was caving in on itself. For a moment, I hoped that I might just pass out. Anything to make it stop.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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“There once was this man who found himself talking to his son. He had often told the boy stories of heroes and villains, good and evil. He began by saying that all of us—even himself—had these two sides of ourselves fighting with each other, these two wolves. And these two wolves? They're always fighting. One was all that was pure in the world—the light, the hope, and the sanctuary. The other was all that was bad in the world—the dark, the despair, and the revenge. This same fight is going on inside of you, son... and inside of every other person on this earth. And this fight isn't just once; it's constant, happening every day." Her voice softened, and I could almost picture her sitting cross-legged on the floor, her expression thoughtful as she relayed the story. "What happens after that?" I asked hoarsely, my chest still tight but my mind began to quiet, drawn into her words despite myself. "The little boy in the story asks which wolf wins," she continued, her tone, a warmth so faint it was nearly imperceptible. "And his father looked at him and says, 'The one you feed.”

PhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalStorytellingIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionTales Family
Author:Sasha Harding
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“She walked with such grace—never brushing shoulders with anyone or awkwardly squeezing herself through. The world seemed to fall in line with her, and though she was most certainly aware of the power she held, she never became greedy with it. She didn't fade into the background, like I did, but she never demanded to be admired either. That, more than anything, made her impossible to ignore. I'd always thought she was attractive, but now I knew it was more than that, I worshipped her.”

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