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And the nights, bigger than imagining: black and gusty and enormous, disordered and wild with stars.
Donna Tartt, The Secret History
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And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky—so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.
Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via kvngslayer)
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Donna Tartt from The Secret History
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I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.
- The Secret History (Donna Tartt)
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literature meme: 4/10 series or books
Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt (1992)
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It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves?
The Secret History (1992) by Donna Tartt
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beckisbookshelf-deactivated2023
Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.
Donna Tartt, The Secret History
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“But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?’ Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.”
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xxxtenchittaphon-deactivated202
Moral of the secret history is to stay in ur fuckin lane Richard shoulda just let them conjugate their greek verbs incorrectly tbh
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Camilla Macaulay, The Secret History by Donna Tartt (1992)
She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze. But strange and marvellous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was not the fragile creature one would have her seem.
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a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.
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The Secret History (1992)