The torment of love can transform people into wretched monsters
Here is The Boy with the Thorn in His Side, dying in your world. A man made monster with every human emotion, overdosed on worthlessness in a world that could never wrap it’s head around him (so don’t even try). When it’s all over just remember every single word you ever said was always just a bullet to his head. Bury him underground between friends and love - the only things that are gonna make it to the end with him. Look for his body buried beneath where the yellow weeds are growing and know he’s still living in his nightmares.
This story never really had a point. It’s just a lull - a skip in the record. We are addresses in ghost towns. We are old wishes that never came true. We are hand grenades (and every word you say pulls the pin). We are all gods, we are all monsters.
Once upon a time, a girl lived in a sandcastle, making monsters to send through a hole in the sky.
He had read books, newspapers and magazines. He knew that if you ran away you sometimes met bad people who did bad things to you; but he had also read fairy tales, so he knew that there were kind people out there, side by side with the monsters.
I'm a monster, you know. I'm one of the dangerous ones. No you aren't, he promised. Your one of us.
I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Alger: A man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident.
I was becoming the cold, emotionally crippled monster I always wanted to be, and I wasn’t so sure I liked it. But it was too late. The metamorphosis was already well under way.
It doesn't make you a monster to want, she said, her voice very gentle. It's what you do with it that matters.
He whipped the chair around and actually split one of the things in half with the impact, spilling the spray of blood that was reflective, like mercury. John bellowed, "Anyone else want to donate blood to chair-ity?" He ducked into the the door and bashed one monster right in the wig, screaming, "There's some dessert! With a chair-y on top!
It's not a good feeling--knowing that you profoundly deserve the title of monster. It's better to be kind than to feel guilty.
Monsters don't die. They just dissipate into smoke and dust, which saves heroes a lot of trouble cleaning up after a fight.
It's not John who wants to cut his mother into tiny pieces, it's Mr. Monster. See? I feel better already.
It is better not to try people, not to force them to desperation. Make them prosper; out of superfluidity, they will be generous. Full bellies breed gentle manners. The pinch of famine makes monsters.
The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling.
I wish we had a sign that this flaming dragon is part of an attack or something. Those dung heaps might think it’s just one of their own monsters enjoying the sunrise.
...throw roses into the abyss and say: 'here is my thanks to the monster who didn't succeed in swallowing me alive.
I didn't want to be the monster! I didn't want to kill this room full of harmless children! I didn't want to lose everything I'd gained in a lifetime of sacrifice and denial!
Really, boy, unless you're ready to deal with the monster, you shouldn't go looking under the bed.
I loved him in that moment, loved him more than I'd ever loved anyone, and I wanted to to tell them all that I was the snake in the grass, the monster in the lake. I wasn't worthy of this sacrifice; I was a liar, a cheat, a thief. And I would have told, except that a part of me was glad. Glad that this would all be over with soon. Baba would dismiss them, there would be some pain, but life would move on. I wanted that, to move on, to forget, to start with a clean slate. I wanted to be able to breathe again.
Living in a place like this, she must have learned how to see all the monsters that can hide a person.
Over the course of many encounters and many years, I have successfully developed a standard operating procedure for dealing with big, nasty monsters. Run away.
Young Reinette: Monsieur, be careful! The Doctor: It's just a nightmare, Reinette, don't worry, everyone has nightmares. Even monsters under the bed have nightmares! Young Reinette: What do monsters have nightmares about? The Doctor: Me!
What unhappy beings men are! They constantly waver between false hopes and silly fears, and instead of relying on reason they create monsters to frighten themselves with, and phantoms which lead them astray.
Inside each of us is a monster; inside each of us is a saint. The real question is which one we nurture the most, which one will smite the other.
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