Hollow Heathens Quotes

She was everything I wasn’t, yet looked at me—to me—as if we were stitched by the same string.

Yet, still, I fell in love with the moon. And she, too, fell in love with me.

You believe you’re gazing at the stars, when, in all reality, the entire galaxy is gazing at you.

So, I kissed the night, got lost in his sky and suspended in his time. I kissed the darkness too, as if it was all I knew because it was a part of him.

My god, Fallon, I’m in love with you. Always have been! And I’m certain that I loved you a thousand times before as I do now, and I hope to love you a thousand times again. That’s it! That’s all there is to it.

Acceptance is a ten-letter prison we’re all eager to be locked in

I fell in love anyway, and they would all laugh. They could not see her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again.

To be a mortician was a calling. And there was beauty after death, like a wilted rose, petals stiff and fragile. Timeless and enchanting. A casted spell and oldest tale. Stories frozen in time within the ruins.

They said you couldn’t know the moon, touch it, kiss it, make love to it. You could only watch from the dark trenches of the earth, admire it from afar. Yet, still, I fell in love with the moon. And she, too, fell in love with me.

Heart failure. The organ I would follow anywhere, without question, without reasoning. When lost or confused, it was our hearts we were told to trust completely. The speaker of desires, deliverer of feelings, and giver of hope. Yet it still had the audacity to fail us, like I had almost failed Gramps, if the town would have let me.

Do not fall in love with the moon, they said. I fell in love anyway, and they would all laugh. They could not see her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again. They wouldn’t be able to understand. And no one could ever love her as deeply as I did. No one else was made for it, and those who were like me weren’t brave enough. No ordinary being was created to fall in love with the moon, only that of the aberrant. The strange. They said you couldn’t know the moon, touch it, kiss it, make love to it. You could only watch from the dark trenches of the earth, admire it from afar. Yet, still, I fell in love with the moon. And she, too, fell in love with me.

See how cruel the whites look. Their lips are thin, their noses sharp, their faces furrowed and dis­torted by folds. Their eyes have a staring expression; they are always seeking something. What are they seeking? The whites always want something; they are always uneasy and restless. We do not know what they want. We do not understand them. We think that they are mad." I asked him why he thought the whites were all mad. "They say that they think with their heads," he replied. "Why of course. What do you think with?" I asked him in surprise. "We think here," he said, indicating his heart. I fell into a long meditation. For the first time in my life, so it seemed to me, someone had drawn for me a picture of the real white man. It was as though until now I had seen nothing but sentimental, prettified color prints. This Indian had struck our vulnerable spot, unveiled a truth to which we are blind. I felt rising within me like a shapeless mist something unknown and yet deeply familiar. And out of this mist, image upon image detached itself: first Roman legions smashing into the cities of Gaul, and the keenly incised features of Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus, and Pompey. I saw the Roman eagle on the North Sea and on the banks of the White Nile. Then I saw St. Augus­tine transmitting the Christian creed to the Britons on the tips of Roman lances, and Charlemagne's most glorious forced con­versions of the heathen; then the pillaging and murdering bands of the Crusading armies. With a secret stab I realized the hol­lowness of that old romanticism about the Crusades. Then fol­lowed Columbus, Cortes, and the other conquistadors who with fire, sword, torture, and Christianity came down upon even these remote pueblos dreaming peacefully in the Sun, their Father. I saw, too, the peoples of the Pacific islands decimated by firewater, syphilis, and scarlet fever carried in the clothes the missionaries forced on them. It was enough. What we from our point of view call coloniza­tion, missions to the heathen, spread of civilization, etc., has another face - the face of a bird of prey seeking with cruel in­tentness for distant quarry - a face worthy of a race of pirates and highwaymen. All the eagles and other predatory creatures that adorn our coats of arms seem to me apt psychological representatives of our true nature.

It wasn’t until after you were dead when people started to listen.

The shape of her smile colored the nightmares in the sky, and I couldn’t bear to touch her without shaking, without seeing her as anything other than a rare girl who had a celestial stamp in all her details.

It was true, I had a love simmering inside me. This thing I felt for her, perhaps it was strong enough to tear apart a coven, a town. Maybe even bring a Heathen to its knees. But I had a darkness inside me too. It became a passenger inside my skin, moving leisurely within me like an evil spirit. And if I could not indulge in the one, I’d be overtaken by the other.

No dawn, no day, no nightfall. A space-time, where we only heard the anticipating thudding of our hearts. Like Wicked Death Wish.

I stood there for a long time, watching the girl who looked as if she had the moon tucked under her heart and the galaxy woven into her soul. Her white hair spilled over her pillow, pale skin against the white sheets. We didn’t make sense. We were so different, but still all the same. Nightmares and dreamscapes—the epitome of us.

I fell in love anyway, and they would all laugh. They could not see her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again. They wouldn’t be able to understand. And no one could ever love her as deeply as I did. No one else was made for it, and those who were like me weren’t brave enough. No ordinary being was created to fall in love with the moon, only that of the aberrant. The strange. They said you couldn’t know the moon, touch it, kiss it, make love to it. You could only watch from the dark trenches of the earth, admire it from afar.

I would go to him, and I would love him. All of him. Over and over … on repeat. Because I was certain all these things he was made of were the very parts missing in me.

her beauty. No one would believe me if I said the moon breathed life into me, that it was here, inside her, where I found myself again.

For a fleeting moment, horror satisfies whatever it is inside me that starves to be filled, faced, or forgotten.

Everyone tells you how to live your life, but no one tells you how to walk away from the life you love when it starts to hurt.

Why was it that I felt so happy, yet so miserable? That to be able to think and go about my day after the night we’d shared, and the way he’d left, oh! it felt like walking on an ivory moon with a dark cloud looming close behind.

There was beauty after death, like a wilted rose, petals stiff and fragile. Timeless and enchanting. A casted spell and oldest tale. Stories frozen in time within the ruins.

You wanted me to be real? Well, here you have it. I want you, and the rest doesn’t matter.

Crayton was capable of forming such beautiful phrases like “Hollow hearts fill dangerous minds” or “Beware of the broken. They know how to survive.” My favorite being “The heaviest crowns will fall from heaven”.

with Julian, I loved life because he made me feel undead. The girl who looked like a ghost, talked to ghosts, raised by ghosts, he made this girl feel like something worth looking at, someone who was wanted.

My wretched soul would choose yours in this life and each one hereafter––because, without you, I am certain a monster is what would become of me.

Sirius leaned over and reached into her dress pocket, pulled out a silver chain with a pendant attached. ‘Until forever,’ whispered she, slipping the necklace around his neck.

Boys should know never to take a coffee from the hands of a female…unless they were warming it up.

When the moon has struck you, it’s called lunaticus … and you struck me. Hard.

I’ve tried to ignore it, but I can’t. No matter what they say, you were always mine, and you always will be.

Only you have the power to determine your fate.

Kioni and I walked through the pumpkin patch as pies and crumbles swelled in the air, everyone in wool coats and snug hats to cover their ears. Leaves tumbled from stubborn branches. Each one fell as if plucked by an invisible hand, Fall’s version of a snow globe.

I want to be wherever your mind takes you.I smiled sheepishly. – You're already there.

CHAPTER 3 FALLON

I believe this world is filled with nothing of the normal, that we are all monsters and freaks. And if my beliefs are true, we can come out of our hiding places and find one another. I believe something more hideous and cruel than us has put us there, in the dark corners of our minds. Something that isn’t normal itself, for normal is the lie to keep all the monsters and freaks tamed.

but h seemed

Milo was quick to speak up. “Two orders of hotcakes and.

The Vault was a sanctuary for those who lived on the fringes of society, those who pushed past the boundaries of the norm. It was a place where they could live out every fantasy and feed every hunger. And we delivered. The Vault was Heathens Hollow. Heathens Hollow was The Vault.