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Quote by Paul Kellie

“There's a certain sadness that comes to one who falls in love, the same sadness which is echoed once that love ends.”

Quote by Paul Kellie

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Paul Kellie

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“My bed to the right, where it has always been. Her bed, in another room. I did not know what to do with that empty corner where her bed should have gone. It looked foreign, the exposed strip of carpet. It looked wrong, that empty coldness squatting in the corner, laughing and pointing a clawed finger at me.”

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Book:Chains of Nurture
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“It's like a stomach ache after not eating for five days. The muscles are starting to eat themselves, and you couldn't care less. It's about holding on to every moment with every ounce of your being, every atom. It's about memorising every expression, the way your muscles work, the way you speak, how your voice sounds during every part of the day. It's about not feeling the goodbye in every kiss, in every hug, in every touch. It's about trying to keep your voice steady even with a knife to your throat. It's August and I'm tired of being strong. I never really was very brave. Throw me on sharp edges, I've never felt so destructive.”

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Book:Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: in search for The Great Perhaps
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“The words roll off your tongue so smoothly that I almost don't feel the pain. Your voice has soothed me for so long that when you use that same voice to tell me we are over, I initially don't even register you are delivering bad news. It's like you, the love of my life, are standing in front of me with your sweet and sympathetic eyes as if nothing is wrong and then you pull the trigger. So unexpected that I sit there, staring at my wound, misunderstanding the events that have just occurred. "Why am I bleeding? How did this come to be? Did you really just say we ? "Oh. I see." My eyes rest on your mouth, the weapon that has fired against my heart.”

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Book:2am thoughts
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“A photograph develops in a tray of liquid. Previously it’s been just a blank sheet of printing paper shut up in a lightproof envelope; now it has a function, an image, a certainty. We slide the photo quickly into the tray of fixer to secure that clear, vulnerable moment, to make the image harder, unchippable, solid for at least a few years. But what if you plunge it into the fixer and the chemical doesn’t work? This progress, this amorous motion you feel, might refuse to stabilize. Have you seen a picture go on relentlessly developing until its whole surface is black, its celebratory moment obliterated?”

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Book:A History of the World in 10½ Chapters
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