“When I was much younger than I am now, naive in my innocence, I had no doubt that true love existed. One that transcended everything and lived through all tests and trials. I saw movies and read books that told stories of such a love and felt it in my own heart as if I had found it already. The little flame burnt faithfully in my heart like a lighthouse that stands on the shore guiding all ships home. In time I met a man and we shared a grand love story of our own. I was so lucky to find such love so early in my life, yet the way it unraveled made me question nearly everything I believed and forced me to re-evaluate the beliefs I held.
I learned that love has many shapes and takes on different forms, and that some ships sailing toward the light in the sea are not coming home, but merely toward a foreign shore, where they moor in a harbor for a time before they sail on. And that perhaps all ships are homes unto themselves and are meant to roam the sea rather than be still at any one given place, any one harbor. For the harbor too makes love to the sea each day and each night and the sea is life itself that gently rocks the ships or sends them to the rocks in a storm. While the lighthouse stands with integrity and stability in all weather, casting its light into the darkness as does the little flame within us all, illuminating the chamber of our hearts and awakening us to the knowing of love, thus delivering us home to ourselves. It is within the darkness of that chamber that all that comes from love is conceived and brought to full term as a baby in a mother’s womb. For darkness is the home of creation. But it is not born until projected outwards and seen reflected in the mirror of life and the eyes of a beloved.”—Marketa Irglova (via demova)
“He [Gary] actually came around the next morning, because we lived near each other at the time, and he said, ‘Have you seen the new book? We’ve got a lot of work to do, mate.’ He was quite happy, and I didn’t know how to break it to him. So I said, ‘Have you actually read it yet, Gaz?’ ‘No, just clicked through it.’ A few days later I’m in makeup and he comes in, and sits down, and goes ‘Have you heard the news?’ ‘What’s that, Gaz?’ ‘It’s terrible fucking news.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘You know how everyone is talking about who dies in book five? It’s fucking me! This woman puts the poor bastard in prison for 12 years, brings him back for a few scenes, and then she kills him!’”—