Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.
Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
The Wilderness World of John Muir
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Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings.
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This isn__ how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to be me. Not this.
Blame is the creed of the disempowered.
It ain't the blows we're dealt that matter, but the ones we survive.