I think page-turner is the term to describe Stephenie Meyer’s series: the books are almost addictive, but when you look beneath the surface you see a pretty simple story that has nothing to do with real life. Midway through the second book I got really disappointed with the author. You can’t just go back and edit the truth like that.
Frowning with echoes of hysterical laughter, exhausted by sleep. Lonesome raven in a sea of snow. Numb wings gleaming black. Feathers ruffled by urban noise. Cursed lethargy. Katatonia. Eyes fixed on the sun, drowning upwards.
When most people learn about an event they deem “violent,” such as a school shooting, a terrorist attack, cruelty to animals and so on, their standard reaction seems to be: “oh it’s TV’s fault — all those violent movies!” or something on the lines thereof.
Imagine a society in which small children had everything they needed in order to survive (i.e. food, warmth, shelter) but they would be completely separated from and unaware of the existence of adults. No television, no grown-ups, no “negative” influences. One could say that an utopian society would rise as these children grow. I don’t think so. I believe that at some point leaders, groups, a power structure and all the inherent problems will appear, including fights and violence.
We invented it, so don’t blame TV.
Clearly not as strong as that other book :( But at least that means Sarah Dessen has improved with time, as an author.
- Life is an ugly, awful place to not have a best friend.
- There are some things in this world you rely on, like a sure bet, and when they let you down, shifting from where you’ve carefully placed them, it shakes your faith, right where you stand.
- You can’t just turn your heart off like a faucet. You have to go to the source and dry it out, drop by drop.
- You can’t just plan a moment when things get back on track, just like you can’t plan the moment you lose your way in the first place.
Nu cred că te-aş fi observat
dacă în acel moment
nu m-ai fi împins peste margine.
Dar în vârtejele cu care mi-ai smuls ancora
m-am trezit jos,
jos de tot,
dezarmat de privirea ta.
Şi în clipa aceea
nu ştiu ce ai citit pe faţa mea.
prins între două perechi de retine
Între două oglinzi,
o rază prizonieră
se reflectă iar şi iar
până cu forţa ei
şi cu un zgomot spart
îşi fură libertatea.
Atât de clar:
dar fără citoplasma unui zâmbet.
într-o mare de nimicuri.
Până două nimicuri se întâlnesc
şi se prefac într-un nimic mai mare.
Două zerouri alăturea