"So perhaps I am writing a transposed autobiography; perhaps I now live in one of the houses I have brought into the fiction; perhaps Charles is myself disguised. Perhaps it is only a game. Modern women like Sarah exist, and I ￼￼have never understood them. Or perhaps I am trying to pass off a concealed book of essays on you."
The French Lieutenants Woman - John Fowles
I can’t deal with overly critical people.
And maybe you were the ocean, when I was just a stone.
Medusa piercing and red hair! I didn’t mean to look this miserable in this picture. I’m happy.
"I love that sweet smell of decay that surrounds me in forests and woods. A kind of mulchy, deep, rich rot that has no connotation of death or ending, but rather of life and age. A sense of perpetual destruction and rebirth."