staring sorrowfully at nothing
- elizabeth gilbert in city of girls

LUCIANA

Victor, I don't know what's left, where to be, what to fight for.

VICTOR

I see we've been asking ourselves the same questions. I'm at least enjoying myself while I ask them.

Fear The Walking Dead, S04E09

We drank gin fizzes till we forgot how to walk.
- Vivian and Celia in City of girls by Elizabeth Gilbert

There was no focus; there was just a constant search for the vivid. We missed nothing, but we also missed everything.

- Vivian and Celia in City of girls by Elizabeth Gilbert

Call me Ishmael Madame Dagadá

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle
Que nul ne peut apprivoiser
Et c'est bien en vain qu'on l'appelle
S'il lui convient de refuser

You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.
- Colete in Elizabeth Gilbert's City of Girls

but my heart was a desert landscape filled with mirages and quicksand
- sylvie in jean kwok's searching for sylvie lee

DEANNA

Dolor hic tibi proderit olim.

MICHONE

What does it mean?

DEANNA

Someday this pain will be useful to you.

- Ovid cited in The Walking Dead, S06E08

I held on to the images of their faces, their bodies, their hands, their voices.
- Sylvie in Jean Kwok's Searching for Sylvie

How could I hate him and still wish he were mine?
- Sylvie in Jean Kwok's Searching for Sylvie Lee

Nowadays, we lived in a time boundary when emotion defeated logic, an era when gut feeling reigned over rationality. There was no patience for the difficult, the indecipherable, yet what else was the human heart but that?

- Sylvie in Jean Kwok's Searching for Sylvie Lee

I waited for a touch of emotion, the faintest glow. Nothing.
É que eu me lembro que eu te dei o meu melhor e recebi o teu pior.

Mas eu sei que a gente só dá o que tem.

- Sylvia Plath & Yas Speransa

If Mrs. Guinea had given me a ticket to Europe, or a round-the-world cruise, it wouldn't have made one scrap of difference to me, because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.

- Esther in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar

why the hell I still love you