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mother of sorrows

๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ป, ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜จ๐˜ช๐˜ฃ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ณ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ฉ๐˜ต
hi, hello! this is just a place for me to share quotes out of books, articles and essays that inspire me to write or i really just like! ^^ everyone is welcome to share their own and drop excerpts below! just a note, some of these quotes are from books i haven't read yet, so i might not be fully aware of the context. if so, i'll probably mark those quotes just to make sure! i might also drop different quotes from the same books. but either way, i hope you guys enjoy!
 
โ A labyrinth is a metaphor in both senses, carrying you on a brief journey that reminds you that you are always on a journey. You are always in a labyrinth, always a little lost and always feeling your way forward, there is always an unexpected turn ahead, in fact you were born into the labyrinth out of the darkness of the womb and you will only exit in that other darkness of tombs.โ€‹

The two paths, literal and metaphorical, become one path on which you know at last that you are a traveler in darkness. But in the labyrinth, you arrive before that finale, and one of the great spiritual uses of a labyrinth is to compress the journey of pilgrimage into a local space, so that you may wander, may know that in order to get to your destination, you must turn away from it, become lost, spin about, and then only after the way has become overwhelming and absorbing, arrive, without having gone far. โžโ€‹
โ€‹
๐™๐™š๐™—๐™š๐™˜๐™˜๐™– ๐™Ž๐™ค๐™ก๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™ฉ, โ€œ๐™…๐™ค๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ฎ ๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐˜พ๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง: (๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™€๐™กรญ๐™ฃ ๐™ƒ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™จ๐™™รณ๐™ฉ๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™งโ€™๐™จ ๐™‡๐™–๐™—๐™ฎ๐™ง๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™ ๐™‹๐™–๐™ฉ๐™),โ€ ๐™๐™๐™š ๐™€๐™ฃ๐™˜๐™ฎ๐™˜๐™ก๐™ค๐™ฅ๐™š๐™™๐™ž๐™– ๐™ค๐™› ๐™๐™ง๐™ค๐™ช๐™—๐™ก๐™š ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™™ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™–๐™˜๐™ž๐™ค๐™ช๐™จ๐™ฃ๐™š๐™จ๐™จ.
 
โ Strange priests wandered among the pallets of the dying, the attendant fathers of the sick, called fathers of the 'Good Death': servants of God who 'extert themselves in the gain and pursuit of souls', writes Marcello Mansi in the Consigli per aiutare al ben morire. Sinister, black as crows, disliked by the sick, they tried to convince them that since diseases were nothing but 'a royal road to show us the way to Heaven so as to rejoice in the divine essence, they should not reject our attention nor regret it, but should accept and endure it with holy will.' Better dead but saved than vagabond and sinner, was their logic. In many the 'holy will' was late in showing itself, and this was a shame, because in fact the diseases could 'take away the opportunity', continues Mansi, 'of falling into some very grave sin.' โžโ€‹
โ€‹
๐™‹๐™ž๐™š๐™ง๐™ง๐™ค ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ข๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ง๐™š๐™จ๐™ž, ๐˜ฝ๐™ง๐™š๐™–๐™™ ๐™ค๐™› ๐˜ฟ๐™ง๐™š๐™–๐™ข๐™จ: ๐™๐™ค๐™ค๐™™ ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™™ ๐™๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™–๐™จ๐™ฎ ๐™ž๐™ฃ ๐™€๐™–๐™ง๐™ก๐™ฎ ๐™ˆ๐™ค๐™™๐™š๐™ง๐™ฃ ๐™€๐™ช๐™ง๐™ค๐™ฅ๐™š. (very interesting book, but WILL make your brain hurt)
 
โ€œ la planรจte B-612 a รฉtรฉ aperรงu qu'une fois par tรฉlescope en 1909 par un astronome turc. Il avait fait alors une grande dรฉmonstration de sa dรฉcouverte ร  un congrรจs international dโ€™asteonomie. Mais personne ne lโ€™avait cru ร  cause de son costume. Les grandes personnes sont comme รงa.

Heureusement pour la rรฉputation de l'astรฉroรฏde B-612, un dictateur turc imposa ร  son peuple, sous peine de mort, de s'habiller ร  l'europรฉenne. L'astronome refit sa dรฉmonstration en 1920, dans un habit trรจs รฉlรฉgant. Et cette fois-ci tout le monde fut de son avis.โ€

le petit prince.
 
โ€œ la planรจte B-612 a รฉtรฉ aperรงu qu'une fois par tรฉlescope en 1909 par un astronome turc. Il avait fait alors une grande dรฉmonstration de sa dรฉcouverte ร  un congrรจs international dโ€™asteonomie. Mais personne ne lโ€™avait cru ร  cause de son costume. Les grandes personnes sont comme รงa.

Heureusement pour la rรฉputation de l'astรฉroรฏde B-612, un dictateur turc imposa ร  son peuple, sous peine de mort, de s'habiller ร  l'europรฉenne. L'astronome refit sa dรฉmonstration en 1920, dans un habit trรจs รฉlรฉgant. Et cette fois-ci tout le monde fut de son avis.โ€

le petit prince.
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โ I held my life in my hands amongst those keys and, in a moment, would place it between his well-manicured fingers. The evidence of that bloody chamber had showed me I could expect no mercy. Yet, when he raised his head and stared at me with his blind, shuttered eyes as though he did not recogfnize me, I felt a terrified pity for him, for this man that lived in such strange, secret places that, if I loved him enough to follow him, I should have to die.โ€‹
โ€‹
The atrocious loneliness of that monster! โžโ€‹
โ€‹
๐˜ผ๐™ฃ๐™œ๐™š๐™ก๐™– ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง, ๐™๐™๐™š ๐˜ฝ๐™ก๐™ค๐™ค๐™™๐™ฎ ๐˜พ๐™๐™–๐™ข๐™—๐™š๐™ง.
 
also thank you AaronMk AaronMk vaipiano vaipiano for adding quotes! ๐Ÿ˜ผ theyre both really interesting, so i'm really glad they got thrown in here!!
 
โโ€œIโ€™ve never in all my life seen any kind of spirit โ€” Iโ€™ve heard the sounds they make, but Iโ€™ve never seen them with my own eyes,โ€ said the old man who had gone out to investigate the Franklin survivors who had straggled into his camp that day on King William Island.โ€‹
โ€‹
The figuresโ€™ skin was cold but it was not โ€œcold as a fish,โ€ concluded the man. Therefore, he reasoned, they were probably alive.โ€‹
โ€‹
โ€œThey were beings but not Inuit,โ€ he said, according to the account by shaman Nicholas Qayutinuaq.โ€‹
โ€‹
The figures were too weak to be dangerous, so Inuit women tried to comfort the strangers by inviting them into their igloo.โ€‹
โ€‹
But close contact only increased their alienness: The men were timid, untalkative and โ€” despite their obvious starvation โ€” they refused to eat.โ€‹
โ€‹
The men spit out pieces of cooked seal offered to them. They rejected offers of soup. They grabbed jealous hold of their belongings when the Inuit offered to trade.โ€‹
โ€‹
When the Inuit men returned to the camp from their hunt, they constructed an igloo for the strangers, built them a fire and even outfitted the shelter with three whole seals.โ€‹
Then, after the white men had gone to sleep, the Inuit quickly packed up their belongings and fled by moonlight.โ€‹
โ€‹
Whether the pale-skinned visitors were qallunaat or โ€œIndiansโ€ โ€” the group determined that staying too long around these โ€œstrange peopleโ€ with iron knives could get them all killed.โ€‹
โ€‹
โ€œThat night they got all their belongings together and took off towards the southwest,โ€ Qayutinuaq told Dorothy Eber.โ€‹
โ€‹
But the true horror of the encounter wouldnโ€™t be revealed until several months later.โ€‹
โ€‹
The Inuit had left in such a hurry that they had abandoned several belongings. When a small party went back to the camp to retrieve them, they found an igloo filled with corpses.โ€‹
โ€‹
The seals were untouched. Instead, the men had eaten each other. โžโ€‹
๐™๐™ง๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™ฃ ๐™ƒ๐™ค๐™ฅ๐™ฅ๐™š๐™ง ๐™ซ๐™ž๐™– ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™–๐™™๐™– ๐™‹๐™ค๐™จ๐™ฉ; ๐™ƒ๐™ค๐™ฌ 19๐™ฉ๐™-๐™˜๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™ช๐™ง๐™ฎ ๐™„๐™ฃ๐™ช๐™ž๐™ฉ ๐™˜๐™ค๐™ฅ๐™š๐™™ ๐™ฌ๐™ž๐™ฉ๐™ ๐™– ๐™ง๐™š๐™–๐™ก-๐™ก๐™ž๐™›๐™š ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™ซ๐™–๐™จ๐™ž๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™ค๐™› ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š '๐™ฌ๐™–๐™ก๐™ ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™™๐™š๐™–๐™™'. (this article is TERRIFYING but has very interesting inuit oral history!)
 

ยซ โ€œBut if I feel, may I never express?โ€

โ€œNever!โ€ declared Reason.

I groaned under her bitter sternness. Never - never - oh, hard word! This hag, this Reason, would not let me look up, or smile, or hope; she could not rest unless I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken-in, and broken down. According to her, I was born only to work for a piece of bread, to await the pains of death, and steadily through all life to despond. Reason might be right; yet no wonder we are glad at times to defy her, to rush from under her rod and give a truant hour to Imagination - her soft, bright foe, our sweet Help, our divine Hope.
ยป

villette by charlotte brontรซ

 
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ยซ I was reminded of the moment, many years earlier, when the flag of the Portuguese king was hoisted over the fortress tower in Azemmur. I had been only a young boy then, but I still lived with the humiliation of that day, for it had changed my familyโ€™s fate, disrupted our lives, and cast me out of my home. Now, halfway across the world, the scene was repeating itself on a different stage, with different people. So I could not help feeling a sense of dread at what was yet to come. ยป

[โ€ฆ]

ยซ But our ill fortune did not afflict the Portuguese in our town: they still shipped gold and wool to Porto and still sent hanbals, kiswas and other woven goods to Guinea. If anything, the drought and famine we were experiencing had only made their trade more profitable, because the price of the wool had fallen so low that they could purchase larger quantities of it. That year, a strange thing happened. The farmers who had neither the funds to pay the Portoguese tax nor grain to sell at marked had to give their children as payment. Girls of marriagable age were worth two arrobas of wheat; boys twice as that. A custom official of my acquaintance swore that he had seen three Portuguese caravels leave Azzemur, each carrying two hundred girls and women, who would be transported to Seville, where they would be sold as domestics and concubines. From that blighted time came the saying: when bellies speak, reason is lost. ยป

the moorโ€™s account by laila lalami. a beautiful book inspired by a real historical figure about slavery and parallels between european colonization in the americas and africa.
 
Just fully stealing this from my discord's History channel

The greed of Gilles de Rais made him easy prey for bogus alchemists, and he never seemed to learn that he was being conned. His biographers report two instances where he was taken in by tricksters, each rather humorous. In the first, de Rais favorite priest, Blanchet, introduced him to a goldsmith who had discovered the means to convert silver into gold. Gilles and the alchemist met at a local tavern where de Rais gave the man a silver coin. Gilles left the alchemist alone to practice his craft and upon his return found the chemist intoxicated and unconscious. Apparently all the man could do was turn a florin into a flagon of wine.

The second con cost Gilles a little more money. Again, Blanchet produced the magician who claimed to able to summon the Devil. One evening, with a sword and dressed in white armor, the magician, Jean de la Riviere, took Gilles and his party into the woods and had them wait in a clearing while he went off to summon Satan. Blanchet later testified that he heard a great clanging, which he believed to be Riviere banging on his armor, and then an ashen-faced and frightened Riviere appeared saying he had seen the devil in the form of a leopard which crept past him into the woods. After this, Blanchet testified, (de Rais, Riviere, and others) went to Pouzauges and indulged in many pleasures and then slept.

Gilles had been convinced of Rivieres sincerity and skill. He was on the hook, and Riviere knew it. The magician told Gilles that he needed some supplies to continue his evocations and Gilles gave him 20 ecus, telling him to return as soon as he could. Of course, Riviere disappeared with his loot and was never seen in those parts again.
Source: Summoning the Devil โ€” GILLES DE RAIS โ€” Crime Library
 

1adac548910bb0b0fbf84b0d1a5f9b5d995d295d.pnj

Peter A. Levine, In An Unspoken Voice. (lowkey no idea what this means but it sounds cool...)โ€‹
 
"Saudi Arabia paid for two things to happen in America and one of them was Sex In The City 2"
-November Kelly. Kill James Bond, BONUS: Sex In The City 2
 
hi, hello! this is just a place for me to share quotes out of books, articles and essays that inspire me to write or i really just like! ^^ everyone is welcome to share their own and drop excerpts below! just a note, some of these quotes are from books i haven't read yet, so i might not be fully aware of the context. if so, i'll probably mark those quotes just to make sure! i might also drop different quotes from the same books. but either way, i hope you guys enjoy!
Thank you for putting this thread together, I've very much enjoyed reading your posts!
 
... Guinefort the greyhound belonged to a knight who lived in a castle near Lyon. One day, the knight went hunting, leaving his infant son in the care of Guinefort. When he returned, he found the nursery in chaos โ€“ the cradle overturned, the child nowhere to be seen and Guinefort greeted his master with bloody jaws. Believing Guinefort to have devoured his son, the knight slew the dog. He then heard a child crying; he turned over the cradle and found his son lying there, safe and sound, along with the body of a viper bloody from dog bites. Guinefort had killed the snake and saved the child. On realizing the mistake the family dropped the dog down a well, covered it with stones and planted trees around it, setting up a shrine for Guinefort. Upon learning of the dog's martyrdom, the locals venerated the dog as a saint and visited his shrine of trees when they were in need, especially mothers with sick children.

The local peasants hearing of the dog's noble deed and innocent death, began to visit the place and honor the dog as a martyr in quest of help for their sicknesses and other needs.Stephen of Bourbon (d. 1262): De Supersticione: On St. Guinefort.
The custom was regarded as harmful and superstitious by the church, which made efforts to eradicate it and enacted a fine for the continued practice. Despite repeated prohibitions by the Catholic Church, the cult of this dog saint persisted for several centuries. Community memory of the practices was still present in the 1970s, with the last known visit by someone to Saint Guinefort Wood to effect a cure for a sick child occurring around the 1940s.
Saint Guinefort
 
โ Fate rains on Justine. For Justine is extraordinarily single-minded. This single-mindedness makes her a rebel against the Fate that mistreats her; she is in revolt, even, against human nature itself, or, rather against the view of human nature as irredeemably corrupt. Justine would say, as all good revolutionaries have; 'Even if it is so, then it should not be so,'' and, though she is too pusillanimous to do anything about it, she never deviates from her frail and lonely stand that men and women not need necessarily be wicked. โžโ€‹
โ€‹
๐˜ผ๐™ฃ๐™œ๐™š๐™ก๐™– ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง, ๐“๐ก๐ž ๐’๐š๐๐ž๐š๐ง ๐–๐จ๐ฆ๐ž๐ง.


also Moonmelody Moonmelody aaaa thank you!! ;w;
 
I am numb, a world of nothing, all feeling and emotion gone forever. I am a whisper that never was. Someone picked up the sun and pinned it to the sky again, but every day it hangs a little lower than the day before. It's like a negligent parent who only knows one half of who you are.

- Shatter Me
 
โ I have often been unjust, unfair to people whom I loved. Such injustice is an unpardonable sin, permanent, enduring, unforgettable in one's conscience. Sometimes the sin is forgotten, eroded from your life, drowned in the eventfulness of the days; but suddenly, perhaps in the middle of a beautiful enjoyable day, perhaps at night, it comes back upon you, to weigh down your soul, to pain and burn your conscience as though you have just committed it. Almost every other sin or bitter memory may be washed away with atonement and good thought, except this sin of injustice against someone whom you love. It becomes a black spot in your heart and there it remains.โ€‹
โ€‹
A man may perhaps try to lie to his soul.โ€”"It wasn't so bad as that. Your restlessness has created a black night out of mere shadows. It was but a trifle, an every-day occurrence."โ€”Such words are lies, and the man knows it. The heart is not a penal code in which crimes and offenses are defined. Nor is it a catechism in which sins are classified. The human heart is a judge, just and exact.โ€‹
โ€‹
Pardonable is a sin which can be described by word of mouth and atoned for. But heavy, tremendously heavy, is a sin which remains with youโ€”in your heartโ€”indescribable, formless. You confess it to yourself when you tremble in fear before death, or at night when the covers of your bed seem like mountains piled upon you.โ€‹
โ€‹
***โ€‹
โ€‹
Fifteen years ago I came home and remained three weeks. Throughout that time I was gloomy, tired and discontented. My mother's dwelling seemed empty, blank, and I thought that on all of us lingered repulsive shadows, dampness.โ€‹
โ€‹
The first few night I slept in the large room, and as I awoke in the middle of the night, I saw my mother sitting by the table. She appeared motionless, her head resting on her knuckles, her face illumined in the darkness. As I listened, I did not hear the breathing of a sleeping person, but subdued sobbing. I pulled the covers over my head, but even then I heard her sobbing.โ€‹
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I moved to the attic, where in that dismal humor of mine, I began writing my first love stories. I had been forcibly directing my thoughts to beautiful scenesโ€”parks, woods, creeks, pastures.โ€‹
โ€‹
One day I craved black coffee. I don't know how it came to my mind; I simply wanted some black coffee. Perhaps because I knew that there was not even a slice of bread in the house and that much less coffee. Sometimes a person is merciless, cruel.โ€‹
โ€‹
Mother looked at me with her meek, surprised eyes but would not speak. After I informed her that I wanted some black coffee, I returned to the attic to continue my love story, to write how Milan and Breda loved each other, how noble, divine, happy and joyful they were.โ€”"Hand in hand, both young and fully alive, bathed in morning dew-drops, swayingโ€”"โ€‹
โ€‹
Then I heard light steps on the stairs. It was mother, ascending carefully, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. Now I recall how beautiful she was at that moment. A single ray of sun shone directly into her eyes through a crack in the wall. A divine light of heaven, love and goodness were there in her face. Her lips held a smile as those of a child bringing one a gift. Butโ€”โ€‹
โ€‹
"Leave me alone!" I said harshly. "Don't bother me now! I don't want any coffee!"โ€‹
โ€‹
She had not yet reached the top of the stairs. I saw her only from her waist up. As she heard my words, she stopped and stood there motionless, only the hand holding the cup shook. She stared at me in terror and the light in her face died.โ€‹
โ€‹
Blood rushed to my head, from shame, and I stepped toward her as quickly as I could.โ€‹
โ€‹
"Give it to me, mother."โ€‹
โ€‹
But it was too late. The light in her face had died. The smile on her lips had vanished.โ€‹
โ€‹
As I drank the coffee, I said to myself:โ€‹
โ€‹
"Tonight I shall speak tenderly to her and make up for what I have done."โ€‹
โ€‹
In the evening I could not speak to her kindly, nor the next day.โ€‹
โ€‹
***โ€‹
โ€‹
Three or four months later a strange woman brought a cup of coffee to my room. Suddenly I felt a sting in my heart. I wanted to cry out from pain. I shivered, my whole being trembling in stark agony.โ€”For a man's heart is a just judge; a man's heart does not concern itself with paragraphs in statute books or trifles. โžโ€‹
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๐™„๐™ซ๐™–๐™ฃ ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ ๐™–๐™ง, ๐€ ๐‚๐ฎ๐ฉ ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐‚๐จ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ๐ž๐ž.
 

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sorry for the ugly quality,, but this is from piero comporesi's the incorruptible flesh - a historical account of a saint's internal organs showing supposed religious mysteries.
 

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