i. ii. iii.
Words, words, word. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empire. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire and brimstone. For sixpence a line, I could cause a riot in a nunnery. But now – I have lost my gift. It’s as if my quill is broken, as if the organ of my imagination has dried up, as if the proud tower of my genius has collapsed.
— Jeffrey Eugenides (via troubled)
Posted: Thursday, June 7th with 126 notes    via
Filed under: #words 
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