Silencio. Sobran horas para hacer nada. Tomo conciencia de mi cuerpo, de mi respiración, de la forma como mi peso se distribuye en la silla, la columna me sostiene y los músculos obedecen mis deseos. Decido, voy a tomar agua y mi brazo se levanta y coge el vaso con la fuerza y velocidad exactas; bebo y siento los movimientos de la lengua y los labios, el sabor fresco en la boca, el líquido frío bajando por la garganta. 

 

A Big Bang occurred, originating at the bridge of her nose, and the force of this explosion had sent galaxies of fleckles hurtling and drifting to every end of her curved, warm-blooded universe.

¿Todo lo que estoy haciendo este verano es leer? Sí, más o menos. No sé qué más hacer si estoy sola. A veces toco pero quisiera que alguien me escuchara y no.
Capaz sí nos veíamos poco y cuando lo hacíamos hablábamos de giladas, pero estaba bueno hablar con alguien. Muchas cosas estaban buenas. Si estás leyendo esto hablame.

Like I did so many times, I turned for a second to the passenger seat to imagine Pen sittin alongside me, shades on, sweet perfume fillin the cab, the painted nails on her fingers as she fiddled with that radio dial till exactly the right tune would fill up the Cruiser. It’s in there somewhere and she can always find it. That’s something I never could do on my own, and I guess that’s cause there ain’t no right tunes without that gal.

No matter how your new circumstances pad themselves out, the roots of your behavior patterns have already marked you out for slaughter.

Morrissey y yo seríamos grandes amigos. 

Power-mad, Thatcher destroys the miners with relish, a damned and unhappy soul smiling victoriously when, under her peace-by-force military instructions, an Argentinian ship full of young teenage soldiers is blown up even though it poses no threat whatsoever to British troops.

¿Morrissey tiene una calcomanía de 'Las Malvinas son Argentinas' + mapita de las islas en el vidrio de su auto? Sí.

Naturally my birth almost kills my mother, for my head is too big, but soon it is I, and not my mother, on the critical list at Salford’s Pendlebury Hospital. I cannot swallow and I spend months hospitalized, my stomach ripped open, my throat pulled wide, my parents are warned that I am unlikely to survive. Disappearing beneath a mass of criss-crossed blanket stitches, I grip onto the short life that has already throttled me.

Morrissey, drama queen, je t'aime.

Ma dry, cracking bones are soothed and liquefied by ma beautiful heroine's tender caresses. The earth moved, and it's still moving.

“Morrissey asked for (and succeeded in getting) drag queens to open for the Smiths, lip-syncing in cabaret style where Bragg could not perform [...]”

For his part, Morrissey stayed solely on the wine, which might have explained why, shortly after taking the stage, he promptly fell off of it. Though the distance was relatively benign, and the humbled new British sensation soon clambered back up to complete the show, Geoff Travis, who was in New York with the group, recalled that Morrissey’s mother “called me the next day complaining about Rough Trade’s lack of security and ambulance men and proper medical care for her son.”

(Wilde) when asked, directly, whether he had kissed a certain one of Lord Douglas’s servants, he replied that he had not, because the boy "was unfortunately ugly".

“How Soon Is Now?”—the other primary candidate for most memorable or identifiable Smiths song, on which Morrissey, more to the public perception of his personality, expressed the pain of the unloved (and unlovable?) with a precision that made it an immediate—and permanent—anthem for anyone who had ever gone to a club on their own, left on their own, gone home, cried, and wanted to die

Quiero estudiar Historia y escribir libros de Música.

Soy una persona aburrida que lee libros y los quotea cada tanto en su igualmente aburrido blog. Qué se le va a hacer.

Dumbledore about eufemismos.
Lo quotearía en 'citas favoritas' en fb pero ya tengo muchas (u).

Bill es muy genial.