Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta : the tip of my tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

– Vladimir Nabokov

(Lolita)

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,   

Then her finger moved in the moonlight, 

         Her musket shattered the moonlight,

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death. 

– Alfred Noyce

(The Highwayman)

She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together. The way the profile of her face and body refracted in the soupy twilight made me feel a little drunk. When a few seconds had throbbed by, I said hello to her.

-J D Salinger

(A Girl I Knew) 

What can you say about a twenty five year old girl who just died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beetles. And me.

-Erich Segal

(Love Story)

He always enjoyed seeing the happiness that the travelers experienced when, after weeks of yellow sand and blue sky, they first saw the green of the date palms. Maybe God created the desert so that man could appreciate the date trees, he thought.

– Paulo Coelho

(The Alchemist)

Love : a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That’s what it is : an edge, a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side

-Lauren Oliver

 (Delirium)