âThere are no safe choices. Only other choices.â
â Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty
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@hellyeahschoolstories
âThere are no safe choices. Only other choices.â
â Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty
âThe real thrill of [theatre] is the thrill of knowing that at any moment something might go wrong. At any moment something on the stage might break or fall over; someone might miss their cue, someone might botch the lighting, someone might forget their accent or their lines. You are never fearful watching a film, because what you are watching is always complete, always the same and always perfect; but you are often fearful watching a play, in case something goes foul and you must then suffer the private embarrassment of watching the actors flounder and repair themselves. But at the same time, in the silky dark of the auditorium, you ache for something to go wrong. You desire it utterly. You feel tender toward any actor whose hat falls off, whose button breaks. You gasp and applaud when an actor trips and rights himself. And if you see a mistake that others in the audience miss, then you feel a special privilege, as if you are glimpsing a seam of a secret undergarment, something infinitely private, like a scarlet bite-mark on the inside of a womanâs thigh.â
â Eleanor Catton, The Rehearsal (via exhaled-spirals)
How I'd love to get to away from here and be someone else for a while in a place where no one knows or expects certain things from me.
- A Great And Terrible Beauty
books i read while quarantined: the gemma doyle trilogy by libba bray
If you will listen, I will tell you a story - one whose ghosts cannot be banished by the comfort of a roaring fire. I will tell you the story of how we found ourselves in a realm where dreams are formed, destiny is chosen, and magic is as real as your handprint in snow. I will tell you how we unlocked the Pandoraâs box of ourselves, tasted freedom, stained our souls with blood and choice, and unleashed a horror on the world that destroyed its dearest Order. These pages are a confession of all that has led to this cold, gray dawn. What will be now, I cannot say.
âI could only ever tell you how I remember it, never how it was. My wrinkled cheesecloth of a memory, all balled up and mothy with the sunlight glinting through.â
Catton, Eleanor. âThe Rehearsal.
âThereâs no such thing as innocence any more⊠thereâs only ignorance. You think you are holding on to something pure, but you arenât. Youâre just ignorant. You are handicapped by everything you donât yet know.â
â Eleanor Catton, The Rehearsal
âThat moment youâre talking about. That one perfect kiss. Itâs all there is. Everything from this point onward is only going to be a facsimile, darling. You will try and re-create that one kiss with all your lovers, try and replay it over and over; it will sit like an old video loop on a television screen in front of you, and you will lean forward to touch the cool bulge of the glass with your forehead and you will feel the ripple-fur of static with your fingers and your cheek and you will be illumined, lit up by the blue black glow of it, the bursts of light, but in the end you will never really be able to touch it, this perfect memory, this one solitary moment of unknowing where you were simply innocent of who you were, of what you might become. You will never touch that feeling again.â
- The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton
Books in PicturesÂ
âRemember that anybody who is clever enough to set you free is clever enough to enslave you.â
âThe Rehearsal, Eleanor Catton
âIt sounds wild, I know, but racism is a spectrum and they all participate in it in some way. They donât all have white hoods or call us mean things; I know that. But racism isnât just about thatâitâs not about being nice or mean. Or good versus bad. Itâs bigger than that. Weâre all in this bubble being affected by the past. The moment they decided they got to be white and have all the power and we got to be Black and be at the bottom, everything changed. If we canât talk about it honestly, and I mean really talk about it, then whatâs the point?â
â Faridah ĂbĂkĂ©-ĂyĂmĂdĂ©, Ace of Spades
gemma doyle trilogy aesthetic
you practice resurrection every night raising the dead under the moonlight and in the gloaming, I start to cry youâre a perfect pearl hung in the sky
âActing is not about making a copy of something that already exists. The proscenium arch is not a window. The stage is not a little three-walled room where life goes on as normal. Theater is a concrete of life as normal. Theater is a purified version of real life, an extraction, an essence of human behavior that is stranger and more tragic and more perfect than everything that is ordinary about me and you.â
- The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton
Favourite Book characters - [2/5]: Ace of Spades by Faridah ĂbĂkĂ©-ĂyĂmĂdĂ©
Chiamaka Adebayo â
âI donât straighten my hair because I hate it; I straighten it because everyone else hates it for me.â
âI didnât invent this twisted system that pits us against each other and makes us do crappy things for statusâbut I do know how to play it.âïž
âI donât know yet what power feels like. But this is surely what it looks like, and I think Iâm beginning to understand why those ancient women had to hide in caves. Why our parents and teachers and suitors want us to behave properly and predictably. Itâs not that they want to protect us; itâs that they fear us.â
â Libba Bray, A great and terrible beauty
âYou will love again, Fee.â
âNo. No, I wonât. Not like this...never like this.â
âVirginity is a myth, by the way. There is no on-off switch, no point of return. Itâs just a first experience, like any other. Everything surrounding it, all the lights and curtains and special effects â thatâs just part of the myth.â
â Eleanor Catton, The Rehearsal (via quotespile)
âDo you ever feel that way?"
"Lonely?"
I search for the words. "Restless. As if you haven't really met yourself yet. As if you'd passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - 'Ah! There I Am! I've been missing that piece!' But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it."
He nods, and I think he's appeasing me. I feel stupid of having said it. It's sentimental and true, and I've revealed a part of myself I shouldn't have.
"Do you know what I think?" Kartik says at last.
"What?"
"Sometimes, I think you can glimpse it in another.â
âLibba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle, #3)