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Quote by Dolly Alderton

“I knew he would date again. Probably within weeks, just like Max had done. I imagined all the women Jethro and Max would date, while they were “confused” and “not ready,” standing next to each other in a long factory line. Each of them would give these men something—a story, a weekend away, their attention, their advice, their time, a sexual adventure, an actual adventure—then they’d be forced to pass him along to the next relationship. These men would emerge at some point, full of all the love and care and confidence that had been bestowed upon them over the years, and they might commit to someone. Then, most certainly, another one. Then another one when that one got boring. Their greed would not be satisfied by one woman, by one life. They’d get to lead a great many lives. Life after life after life after life. Because these men wanted to want something rather than have something. Max wanted to be tortured, he wanted to yearn and chase and dream. He wanted to exist in a liminal state, like everything was just about to begin. He liked contemplating what our relationship might be like, without investing any time or commitment in our relationship.”

Quote by Dolly Alderton

Book:Ghosts

Work

Ghosts

Ghosts is a compilation of eerie tales that delve into the realm of the supernatural, examining the phenomenon of spirits and the unexplained occurrences that transcend the boundaries of the living world. more

Author

Dolly Alderton

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“Sometimes, I consider whether the Emperor hated the Primarchs the way Fulgrim hates us." "Speak for yourself. Our father does not hate us." "Of course he does. From afar, you feel the lie of his warmth, the false affection you all so urgently crave. And he gives it to you but always from pity. You are his champion, yet still you cannot see it. You will never be as close to him as I was. You never see the way he really looks at us. Never seeing the wonders we wrought, only the limitations. Not our triumphs, just our flaws. He hates us, Lucius, because to Fulgrim, we are not his sons. We are a mirror, holding up an image before him that he can never do anything other than hate. We are his own failure made manifest, the miscarriage that comes about when a father tries to mould his children into something better than himself.”

“In the past, I used to write to you and now I write about you, there is a difference of course, like saying I love you and I used to love you, but it is not the difference in how to write the words, but it’s all about you in my eyes, how you were? And how you are? قديماً كنتُ أكتب لك والآن أكتب عنك، هناك فارق بالطبع، كقولي أحبك وكنت أحبك، لكن ليس الأمر هو الإختلاف في كيفية الكتابة، بل الخطب كله في حجمك بأعيني، كيف كان؟ وكيف بات؟”