You’re the only person I’ve ever met who seems to have the faintest conception of what I mean when I say a thing.
— Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out
He raised the hand that wasn’t pinioning her wrist to the wall, and touched a curl of her hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Red,” he said, his voice half-drowsy, “like sunset and blood and fire. Like the leading edge of a falling star, burning up when it touches the atmosphere. We are Morgensterns,” he added, a dark ache in his voice. “The bright stars of morning. The children of Lucifer, the most beautiful of all God’s angels. We are so much lovelier when we fall.”
I was able to travel through my life because I could come to you when I was anxious, not when I was happy.