Best 35 quotes of Courtney M. Privett on MyQuotes

Did it hurt when your own soul ate you alive? It will hurt more when your secrets come to gnaw at your marrow.

Don't let the silence eat you alive when your mind tries to tell you your voice isn't worth hearing.

Forests should not be walked on, they should be walked under and through.

Hate feeds on your heart and pollutes your mind. It makes you lose sight of reality and forces you to focus on animosity instead of love. Hate makes you less of a person, because the borders of hate are so expansive they leave no room for anything else, and then the rest of your world becomes tiny and insignificant in comparison.

He's dead, but he still chases me. He wrote fear into my mind with ink fashioned from his own blood. His words are stamped upon the shadows, gnats swarming about my shoulders.

History is the lie. History's words stain otherwise pristine books, drops of inky poison frosted in sugared deception.

I can breathe where there is green. Green grows hope. It keeps my heart beating and helps me remember who I am.

I can't be free of this place, this haunted torture chamber echoing with thousands of years of blighted history. I can paint the walls, but I can't scrape the malice from the mortar. I can burn the curtains, but the blood splattered upon them only transitions to ash that stains the hearth.

I focus on the light I can find, and if I can't find it, I create it.

I miss the floral scent of her hair, the perfume that barely masked the underlying truth of what she was. She was lost time. She smelled of dusty libraries and unwound clocks, salted sand and rain riding on the first rays of dawn. And lilac. When she held me to her, lilac was what I smelled first.

Innocence has no place alongside immortality.

Inside all of us is a light, but some beacons are darker than others, and some are so dark they never realize they are a form of light at all.

I think in fiction he searches for the life he wishes he had.

Misunderstood twins run away from weddings. Malevolent twins shoot the groom.

Only the dead remember the truth.

Our lives were a complex tapestry, and our woven strands were only meant to intersect at a small number of points in the time-conceived whole. An embroidered starburst, a missed warp, a complicated notion on the loom of time. We were always together, but meant to live our majorities apart, two golden threads wandering through a haunted textile life.

She was lost time. She smelled of dusty libraries and unwound clocks, salted sand and rain riding on the first rays of dawn.

Sometimes we find we love things we never thought we wanted. And then we regret that we never wanted them at all. It's the fear of change, I think, and dread of the unknown.

The dead are never truly gone. They linger in our minds and hearts and torture us with a malice they were not capable of in life.

The more things shatter, the more clear it becomes that the brittle and broken things will never again be made whole.

The only monsters in this world are men and myths.

There are no stars, no moon, only knots, only the promise of death. Drums cry out in the abyss and then fade with everything else. Even the shadows fade and all that is left is death. We are all dead, we just haven't figured it out yet.

There is something intimate about playing a duet. It's touching the soul of another person without ever touching the flesh.

The tear-stained letters of my regret will remain forever unread, for I am never going to be strong enough to give them to you.

The two most common lies in our world are 'I'm fine' and 'You'll be okay'. They are said without harmful intent, and often said in an attempt to placate worries, but still they tell us it is not our place to make another person uncomfortable or to draw too much attention to ourselves. Over and over, we mindlessly repeat variations of the same two phrases as we hide within our lies and attempt to spare others from the miserable truth. I'm fine. I'm okay. You're fine. You'll be okay. Everything will be all right. We become our lies, but only on the surface. Underneath, we are not fine and they will not be okay. We all know this but we're afraid to speak it.

We are all dead, we just haven't figured it out yet.

We are meant to love. We are meant to lose. Love is our promise of a bittersweet end, and our desperate, hopeless struggle not to hurt anyone along the way.

We cry from pain, from loss, and from loneliness, but mostly we cry because we still have hope, and because we can still find joy even on the darkest and coldest of winter nights.

We reinvent our childhoods in deep colors, but are forced to face reality the moment we open our eyes.

We were born of stars and in death we will return to them. Let's not strive to be black holes in the meantime. Let's illuminate the world instead of darkening it, instead of tearing it to pieces. Let's prove we are worthy of being stardust.

What do you live for when everyone and everything you love is gone? Do you keep going, keep stumbling through the dark, or do you find something new to cherish? Maybe neither. Maybe you walk silently and ignore the blows time takes on your heart.

What is it like to be so free - so trapped, but so free? What kind of bird sings only when caught? What kind of slave outshines and rises above her master?

What is love if not the gravity of souls?

You are perfect because you are flawed. You are perfect because you are loved.

Your heartbeat is safe and familiar and all things home. It's the dance of dust on top of the kitchen cupboards, the wind through the rosemary, the brittle flutter of textbook pages, the embrace of a memory until now forgotten.