Stare Into The Abyss Quotes

When you stare into the abyss the abyss stares back at you.

We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.

There was such fear in the world. But love was everywhere if you looked. It was the best thing about humans. That they could stare into the abyss and still open up their hearts. A spit in the eye to fear.

If you stare at someone long enough, they'll eventually look back at you.

What the hell is going on?" demanded Kami's dad, advancing with his black eyes snapping. Jared blurted, "My intentions are honourable." Kami sat up straight in her bed and stared in Jared's direction. "Are you completely crazy?" she wanted to know. "This isn't the eighteenth century. How do you think that's going to help?" "Well, I mean," Jared said, back against the wall like a cornered animal. "When we're older. I mean-" "Please shut up," Kami begged. "I agree with Kami," said Dad. "When you're in an abyss-like hole, quit digging.

Mind led body to the edge of the precipice. They stared in desire at the naked abyss. If you love me, said mind, take that step into silence. If you love me, said body, turn and exist.

The abyss doesn't stare back. It winks.

I looked into those eyes and I saw nothing. It was like staring straight into the Underworld. Like he aches to return to where he came from.

And when you see those good things--and I promise you, there are so many good things--they're going to be so much brighter for you than they are for other people, just like the abyss always seems deeper and bigger when you stare at it. If you stick it out, it's all going to feel worth it in the end. Every moment you live, every darkness you face, they'll all feel worth it when you're staring light in the face.

The person who fights monsters should make sure that in the process, he does not become a monster himself. Because when you stare down at an abyss, the abyss stares back at you.

When you stare into the abyss, the abyss also stares into you.

We never know self-realization. We are two abysses - a well staring at the sky.

the abyss you stare into and that stares back at you is your reflection in the mirror - we all have it - that shadow self - that dark heart...

Madness is the WHO staring into the abyss and denying it is there. Madness is an ostrich who sticks her head in the sand while a pack of hyenas closes around her. - Lanky Man with green eyes

Soon I will fall asleep and I will wake from this terrible dream. The endless night will fall, and I will rise. I long for that night. I do not fear it. I have had my fill of fear. I have stared too long into the abyss, and now the abyss stares back at me.

For me, faith involves staring into the abyss, seeing that it is dark and full of the unknown—and being okay with that.

A man might think he can stare into the abyss without falling in but sometimes the abyss stares back. Sometimes the abyss exerts a strange effect on your sense of balance.

Don’t look down,’ Perabo warned them when they almost reached the top and the view from the archways became imposing. Froi sensed Perabo was instructing himself more than the others. ‘You obviously haven’t been imprisoned on the roof of a castle in the Citavita, Perabo,’ Lirah said. ‘Or hung upside down over a balconette staring down into the gravina, waiting to die,’ Gargarin added. ‘Nothing worse than being chained to the balconette with your head facing down over that abyss,’ Arjuro joined in, not one to be outdone in the misery stakes. ‘Try balancing on a piece of granite between the godshouse and the palace with nothing beneath you but air,’ Froi said. Perabo stopped and took a deep breath and looked as if he was going to be sick. ‘Don’t look down, Perabo,’ Froi advised.

America, like a few other nations, has become characteristic for the depth of the abyss that divide a handful of brutal millionaires who are stagnating in a mire of luxury, and millions of laboring starving men and women who are always staring want in the face.

Nietzsche once said, Beware when fighting monsters, you do not become a monster yourself. For when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you.

I don’t know what to do today, help me decide. Should I cut myself open and pour my heart on these pages? Or should I sit here and do nothing, nobody’s asking anything of me after all? Should I jump off the cliff that has my heart beating so and develop my wings on the way down? Or should I step back from the edge, and let the others deal with this thing called courage? Should I stare back at the existential abyss that haunts me so and try desperately to grab from it a sense of self? Or should I keep walking half-asleep, only half-looking at it every now and then in times in which I can’t help doing anything but? Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee?

She felt the words dangling there, felt herself dangling there, off the edge of the cliff. She swallowed. But Rowan had caught her each time she had fallen- first, when she had plummeted into that abyss of despair and grief; second, when that castle had shattered and she had plunged to the earth. And now this time, this third time...She was not afraid. Aelin met Rowan's stare and said clearly and baldly and without a speckle of doubt, I love you. I am in love with you, Rowan.

who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss stares also into you.

Soon she is lost in another dimension where images prevail and silence rules.  A large, black eye flutters open, staring at Kate from deep within the oceanic darkness of its mysterious pupil.  Falling into the center of this cyclopean abyss, she comes face to face with something completely unexpected.  A tiny infant, seemingly asleep, is suspended in a cocoon of rotating beads of white light above a luminous white stone altar.

Perhaps the rest of the world was gone. It was the most plausible answer. Heaven knows she couldn’t see or think of anyone else. That must be the answer, they were the only two people left, as the Earth spun into a timeless abyss. Claire once read time doesn’t pass at normal speeds within a black hole. If one were to travel into a black hole for only moments and return again, centuries would have passed. That explained the sensation she felt, once again peering into his dark gaze. She wouldn’t look away; she’d trained herself better than that. Then again, she reasoned, it wasn’t an option. She couldn’t divert her gaze if she wanted. The hold upon her stare was stronger than any ropes or chains made by man. Claire knew from experience, submitting to the hold was her best chance at survival. Fighting was a futile waste of energy.

I tell you, you Heaven's Holy Baal, you don't exist; but that, if you did, I would curse you so that your Heaven would quiver with the fire of hell! I tell you, I have offered you my service, and you repulsed me; and I turn my back on you for all eternity, because you did not know your time of visitation! I tell you that I am about to die, and yet I mock you! You Heaven God and Apis! with death staring me in the face - I tell you, I would rather be a bondsman in hell than a freedman in your mansions! I tell you, I am filled with a blissful contempt for your divine paltriness; and I choose the abyss of destruction for a perpetual resort, where the devils Judas and Pharaoh are cast down!

That night I was alone in my room with the lights off. The radio was on and I was staring at the ceiling. I couldn't sleep much at night anymore because that was when the hollow, empty feeling was the worst. At night there's nothing to hold your mind to the earth, and you spend the entire time falling into an abyss. The only cure is the rising of the sun.

retreat, with nothing to look forward to, nowhere to be, nothing to do, we are forced to confront the “wound of existence” head-on, to stare into the abyss and realize that so much of what we do in life—every shift in our seat, every bite of food, every pleasant daydream—is designed to avoid pain or seek pleasure. But if we can drop all that, we can, as Sam once said in his speech to the angry, befuddled atheists, learn how to be happy “before anything happens.” This happiness is self-generated, not contingent on exogenous forces; it’s the opposite of “suffering.” What the Buddha recognized was a genuine game changer.

Man looks in the abyss, there’s nothing staring back at him. At that moment, man finds his character. And that is what keeps him out of the abyss.

Everybody loves Elmo, right? Elmo is a closer. Elmo gets all the Glengarry leads. Elmo stares into the abyss and the abyss whispers, “Tickle me.

A saying I’d heard long ago came to mind: When you stare into the abyss, the abyss also stares into you.

The stars stare back In that deep, Soul-shattering blackness And from the depths of existence Comes a cruel, icy wind Raising the hairs On the back of your neck And suddenly it feels Like you’re walking a tightrope Over that endless abyss On one sad, fraying, thin Violin string.

When historians in the future ask a really old version of me about this pandemic, I’m gonna tell them that Trump’s MAGA minions were the only ones who had no idea what was happening, while the rest of America stared into the abyss.

I wish the Fallen would just come to us for a change.” Ironically, Fallen Angels dropped from the sky and surrounded us. “I wish I had a chocolate cake!” I exclaimed, staring up. No cake appeared, though I did get a few wry glances. Andrew’s body shook with silent laughter while Lucia gave me raised eyebrows. “What? It worked for the Fallen Angels.

We have stared into the abyss and lived to tell the tale,” Ziel said. “I’m going to sleep.

Emotional labor is what you get paid to do, and one of the most difficult types of emotional labor is staring into the abyss of choice and picking a path. Your

Yes, it would have been good, he thought, to spend quiet years with his family, waiting for his diseased heart to fail as he sat in his chair staring at the mountains. But this was better. This was life! Not the killing and the terrified screams of dying men suddenly facing the awesome spectre of their own mortality. No, but to face his fears as a man, to stand at the brink of the abyss and refuse to be cowed or beaten down.

Billie lies awake for a long time, watching the passing lights of cars on the highway and thinking about a strange phenomenon the French call l’appel du vide, the call of the void. It’s when you stand up high, staring into an abyss, and have a strong desire to throw yourself into it. It can take other forms. You might be driving and suddenly think about jerking the wheel, sending your car into oncoming traffic. Or you might be out for a hike and fantasize about hurling yourself off a cliff. It is not a suicidal impulse. In fact, it is the opposite. Psychologists say it’s actually about how much a person wants to live. They perceive a nearby threat to themselves and they think about that threat because they want so much to survive.

When he’s staring into a screen, he’s staring into the abyss. That void of his own making. Of course the abyss would stare back at you.

Don't Stare Into Your i-Phone Too Long Lest The Abyss Stares Back at You

She goes very still and I can count on one hand all the times we’ve been here before, standing at the precipice of almost and staring down into the abyss of what-if.

He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss stares also into you.

Whoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become one himself. And when you stare for a long time into an abyss, the abyss stares back into you.

Suddenly, one day, out of nowhere, an enormous abyss opened up beneath our feet and I was staring into a face I didn't recognize.

Most stare into the abyss and see despair. I see a challenge.

A heavy thunder shattered the deep sleep in my head, so that I came to myself, like someone woken by force, and standing up, I moved my eyes, now refreshed, and looked round, steadily, to find out what place I was in. I found myself, in truth, on the brink of the valley of the sad abyss that gathers the thunder of an infinite howling. It was so dark, and deep, and clouded, that I could see nothing by staring into its depths.

Jaenelle looked thoughtful. “He seduced me. Well, seduced Witch. When we were in the abyss.” “He what?” Lucivar asked with deadly calm. “Don’t get snarly,” Jaenelle snapped. “It was a trick to make me heal the body. He didn’t really want me. Her. He didn’t…” Her voice trailed away. She waited a minute before continuing. “He said he’d been waiting for Witch all his life. That he’d been born to be her lover. But then he didn’t want to be her lover.” “Hell’s fire, Cat,” Lucivar exploded. “You were a twelve-year-old who had recently been raped. What did you expect him to do?” “I wasn’t twelve in the abyss.” Lucivar narrowed his eyes, wondering what she meant by that. “He lied to me,” she said in a small voice. “No, he didn’t. He meant exactly what he said. If you had been eighteen and had offered him the Consort’s ring, you would have found that out quick enough.” Lucivar stared at the blurry garden. He cleared his throat. “Saetan loves you, Cat. And you love him. He did what he had to do to save his Queen. He did what any Warlord Prince would do. If you can’t forgive him, how will you ever be able to forgive me?” “Oh, Lucivar.” Sobbing, Jaenelle threw her arms around him.

The woman turns away; one wing blackens like an onyx gem while the other glows white like a bright spotlight. She flies into the sky, leaving the crowd staring in astonishment. Angels fly away in two directions. Half make a black storm of moving, twisting shapes. The other half forms a white-as-snow moving cloud. The ranks are divided.

Weekends were endless. If you needed to know the most disparate thing about Adam and me it was that he loved them and I did not. I liked order and routine. Weekends were an abyss that was exactly long enough to stare back at me.

What was that?” I croaked. Akhol sidestepped into my view and towered over us. “It was a Demon.” “But you said—” “I know what I said,” Akhol cut in sharply, rubbing his eyes. “There was something wrong with it. Like the Demon had adapted to the darkness and water.” I shivered. “Did he have a ring that he called ‘my precious’?” I joked to try and lighten the mood. I didn’t get a good look at the Demon, but my mind had no problems picturing Gollum. They stared at me blankly.

It is sometimes argued that disbelief in a fearful and tempting heavenly despotism makes life into something arid and tedious and cynical: a mere existence without any consolation or any awareness of the numinous or the transcendent. What nonsense this is. In the first place, it commits an obvious error. It seems to say that we ought not to believe that we are an evolved animal species with faulty components and a short lifespan for ourselves and our globe, lest the consequences of the belief be unwelcome or discreditable to us. Could anything show more clearly the bad effects of wish-thinking? There can be no serious ethical position based on denial or a refusal to look the facts squarely in the face. But this does not mean that we must stare into the abyss all the time. (Only religion, oddly enough, has ever required that we obsessively do that.)

I was sitting on my mom's couch that summer, staring into the so-called abyss, seeing the endless and incomprehensible nothingness where Josh's friendship used to be, when I came to the startling realization that if there really is no reason to do anything, then there is also no reason to not do anything; that in the face of the inevitability of death,there is no reason to ever give in to one's fear or embarrassment or shame, since it's all just a bunch of nothing anyway; and that by spending the majority of my short life avoiding what was painful and uncomfortable, I had essentially been avoiding being alive at all.

A newly diagnosed person with access to the Internet is information’s incubant. Data visits like a minor god. Awake, we pass the day staring into the screen’s abyss, feeling the constriction of the quantitative, trying to learn to breathe through the bar graphs, head full of sample sizes and survival curves, eyes dimming, body reverent to math.

The monkeys sit on soft rocks Until a scream is released from their clocks They stare into an abyss Post photos of a lunar eclipse Soul-filling moments Consistently missed

There is love, and everything else is staring into the abyss.

The eyes were menacing but breath-taking. An abyss of colours swirled where the iris should be and I felt transfixed, my breathing stopped, sharply as he stared at the table I was under.

How I yearn to throw myself into endless space," said Maggie, "and float above the awful abyss." Both Baedecker and Gavin turned to stare at her. "Goethe," she said as if in self-defense.

He imagined that the great dark abyss of space was alive and that he might attract its attention if he stared too long into it - that it might twist and stir and fix its pitiless gaze upon him.

The truth is, the abyss lives in us. In our greed. In the way we look at things different to us, and see things lesser. In the way we see the smaller, or the weaker, and think them prey. It begins with the beasts of the land, the birds of the sky. And in a blinking, we find ourselves seeing our lessers in people with different colored skins. Different gods. Different creeds. We see them as lessers, and we hurt, and we kill, and we think nothing of it. Because they are different, we think ourselves just. Because we are stronger, we think ourselves righteous. That is the abyss in all of us. And we stand close to the edge still. Closer than any can dream. We need but stray for a moment and we will find ourselves back again, staring down into that black. And who will save us? When everything that was different to us is already gone?

Weekends were endless. If you needed to know the most disparate thing about Adam and me, it was that he loved them and I did not. I liked order and routine. Weekends were an abyss that was exactly long enough to stare back at me.

You don't know everything," he says softly. "Not yet you don't. And when you see those good things - and I promise you, there are so many good things - they're going to be so much brighter for you than they are for other people, just like the abyss see,s deeper and bigger when you stare at it. If you stick it out, it's all going to feel worth it in the end. Every moment you live, every darkness you face, they'll all feel worth it when you're staring light in the face. Okay?

The whole city seemed to be pinned down, fascinated by the glassy stare of the Lubyanka. Krymov had thought about various people he knew. Their distance from him was something that couldn't even be measured in space -they existed in another dimension. No power on earth or in heaven could bridge this abyss, an abyss as profound as death itself. But these people weren't yet lying under a nailed-down coffin-lid – they were here beside him, alive and breathing, thinking, weeping.

We as a human community need to develop a new competency. We need to move from a single-cell social organism to a multicellular social organism. While making this evolutionary leap is no easy task, staring into the abyss is a strong motivator.

We have no time, we have no space, we are questions that love answers, but the veil of truth don't lift. In the edge of abyss, people really meet themselves, when they're staring at nothingness, and then they understand that we are, birds of passage.

Because every time she looked at me, she saw him, our son, that generous boy, and it was another gut punch bending her over, another parting of her flesh, and I was one of the thousand, and my gift to her now was my echo. (from "Twenty Reasons to Stay and One to Leave")

Do other dads not end their phone calls with existential despair? Because that's what my dad does. Papa ends most of his calls with me the way you might close a conversation with someone you want to menace. "Anyway," he'll say, "I'll be here. Staring into the abyss." Or, when I have given him good news, "The talented will rule and the rest will perish in the sea of mediocrity." Or, when I have given him bad news, "I am for for everything that happens to you, as everything is my fault." He never ends with anything that couldn't one day be construed as a tragic yet comic last word.

He would smile at times, but I never heard him laugh aloud,” said Louisa Boggs. “He was a sad man . . . he seemed almost in despair.”124 Grant seemed to be staring into an abyss. “I don’t think he saw a light ahead—not a particle. I don’t think he had any ambition further than to educate and take care of his family.

The shadow of your cheekbones Amidst the moonless sky The constellations shape your face The stars, your contoured lines Galactic eyes stare into mine Entranced, I trace your face Lost inside the orbit Of star-crossed, twisted fate Outlined in the exosphere The diamond studded abyss Your stellar silhouette Has left my soul eclipsed.

Emotional labor is the hard work of making art, producing generosity, and exposing creativity. Working without a map involves both vision and the willingness to do something about what you see. Emotional labor is what you get paid to do, and one of the most difficult types of emotional labor is staring into the abyss of choice and picking a path.

Mostly, as my friends seemed to plug along in pursuit of their postgraduation dreams, I stared terrified into the abyss, wondering if I’d be able to see my dream once my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Looking back, I realize pretty much everyone felt as lost as I did. But I didn’t know that then, and I wanted a plan of my own. I would not allow entropy.

Under a Certain Little Star" My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity in case I’m mistaken. May happiness not be angry if I take it for my own. May the dead forgive me that their memory’s but a flicker. My apologies to time for the multiplicity of the world overlooked each second. My apologies to an old love for treating the new one as the first. Forgive me far-off wars for taking my flowers home. Forgive me open wounds for pricking my finger. My apologies for the minuet record, to those calling out from the abyss. My apologies to those in railway stations for sleeping comfortably at five in the morning. Pardon me hounded hope for laughing sometimes. Pardon me deserts for not rushing in with a spoonful of water. And you O hawk, the same bird for years in the same cage, forever still and staring at the same spot, absolve me even if you happened to be stuffed. My apologies to the tree felled for four table legs. My apologies to large questions for small answers. Truth, do not pay me too much attention. Solemnity, be magnanimous to me. Endure, O mystery of being that I might pull threads from your veil. Soul, don’t blame me that I’ve got you so seldom. My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere. My apologies to all for not knowing how to be every man and woman. I know that as long as I live nothing can excuse me, because I myself am my own obstacle. Do not hold it against me, O speech, that I borrow weighty words, and then labor to make them light.

He saw his enemies stealthily darting from rock to tree, and tree to bush, creeping through the brush, and slipping closer and closer every moment. On three sides were his hated foes and on the remaining side—the abyss. Without a moment's hesitation the intrepid Major spurred his horse at the precipice. Never shall I forget that thrilling moment. The three hundred savages were silent as they realized the Major's intention. Those in the fort watched with staring eyes. A few bounds and the noble steed reared high on his hind legs. Outlined by the clear blue sky the magnificent animal stood for one brief instant, his black mane flying in the wind, his head thrown up and his front hoofs pawing the air like Marcus Curtius' mailed steed of old, and then down with a crash, a cloud of dust, and the crackling of pine limbs.

The meticulous nature of my planning was not born of malice but of necessity. It was a declaration of independence, a refusal to be the victim in a narrative where I had always seen myself as the heroine. The plan was my salvation, my catharsis, a way to sever the rot before it consumed me whole. Killing Dean, in theory, was not about ending his life; it was about reclaiming mine. It was about staring into the abyss of my own despair and choosing, instead, to rewrite the ending.

Honey, you're a smart kid, and you're sensitive too. That's not a bad thing, but it is a hard thing. For you, the dark's going to feel a whole lot darker, and you won't be able to hide from it. But I want you to listen to me. Listen good. You don't know everything, not yet you don't. And when you see those good things-and I promise you, there are so many good things-they're going to be so much brighter for you than they are for other people, just like the abyss seems deeper and bigger when you stare at it.

I was sitting on my mom’s couch that summer, staring into the so-called abyss, seeing the endless and incomprehensible nothingness where Josh’s friendship used to be, when I came to the startling realization that if there really is no reason to do anything, then there is also no reason to not do anything; that in the face of the inevitability of death, there is no reason to ever give in to one’s fear or embarrassment or shame, since it’s all just a bunch of nothing anyway; and that by spending the majority of my short life avoiding what was painful and uncomfortable, I had essentially been avoiding being alive at all.

Bam!” the door screams in fear as the moving bed and the doctors run through. Blinding white lights stab my eyes mercilessly. I try to open my mouth. I scream, “Let me out! What’s going on? Why am I here?” but no one is listening. They don’t even hear me cry. I am kicking and yelling and pushing, but nothing’s happening. People stare at me, tears glistening on their faces. My eyes blink rapidly as I search the room for comfort. I stare at the faces I know. “Mother! Father! What’s happening? Why? Where am I?” “Help me! I am scared! I need to be rescued…from what?” I drift into an abyss that chains me forever. I am a rock. I

The truth is, the vanity of protective parents that I cited to the court goes beyond look-at-us-we’re-such-responsible-guardians. Our prohibitions also bulwark our self-importance. They fortify the construct that we adults are all initiates. By conceit, we have earned access to an unwritten Talmud whose soul-shattering content we are sworn to conceal from “innocents” for their own good. By pandering to this myth of the naïf, we service our own legend. Presumably we have looked the horror in the face, like staring into the naked eye of the sun, blistering into turbulent, corrupted creatures, enigmas even to ourselves. Gross with revelation, we would turn back the clock if we could, but there is no unknowing of this awful canon, no return to the blissfully insipid world of childhood, no choice but to shoulder this weighty black sagacity, whose finest purpose is to shelter our air-headed midgets from a glimpse of the abyss. The sacrifice is flatteringly tragic. The last thing we want to admit is that the forbidden fruit on which we have been gnawing since reaching the magic age of twenty-one is the same mealy Golden Delicious that we stuff into our children’s lunch boxes. The last thing we want to admit is that the bickering of the playground perfectly presages the machinations of the boardroom, that our social hierarchies are merely an extension of who got picked first for the kickball team, and that grown-ups still get divided into bullies and fatties and crybabies. What’s a kid to find out? Presumably we lord over them an exclusive deed to sex, but this pretense flies so fantastically in the face of fact that it must result from some conspiratorial group amnesia. To this day, some of my most intense sexual memories date back to before I was ten, as I have confided to you under the sheets in better days. No, they have sex, too. In truth, we are bigger, greedier versions of the same eating, shitting, rutting ruck, hell-bent on disguising from somebody, if only from a three-year-old, that pretty much all we do is eat and shit and rut. The secret is there is no secret. That is what we really wish to keep from our kids, and its suppression is the true collusion of adulthood, the pact we make, the Talmud we protect.

The sea seems bound to the deep abyss, crucified, staring at the high heavens, about to escape, violent, bellowing, nailed to its black bed.

4:00, wallow in self-pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me—I can't cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing... I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness.

I'm convinced by life and death. I'm convinced by seeing a creature dear to me, bound up with me, that I've treated badly... and just when I'm hoping to make it up to her... suddenly she's in pain, she goes through agony and ceases to be. Why? There must be an answer. And I believe there is one. That's what I find convincing. You might be persuaded there is an after-life not by arguments, but by going through life hand-in-hand with somebody, and all at once that somebody vanishes there, into nowhere, and you are left standing over the abyss, staring down into it. And I have stared down into it...

l’appel du vide, the call of the void. It’s when you stand up high, staring into an abyss, and have a strong desire to throw yourself into it. It can take other forms. You might be driving and suddenly think about jerking the wheel, sending your car into oncoming traffic. Or you might be out for a hike and fantasize about hurling yourself off a cliff. It is not a suicidal impulse. In fact, it is the opposite. Psychologists say it’s actually about how much a person wants to live. They perceive a nearby threat to themselves and they think about that threat because they want so much to survive.

Nietzsche had warned against staring too long into an abyss because eventually, he said, it would stare back. Ireland was England’s abyss and it never blinked.

Into The Abyss In the midst of the wailing winds In the thickets of the ghastly fields I found a ring lying on the ground With the footsteps to follow around Frightened yet resolute, out in the dark i go In the willows beside the river An old man creaked in his chair in a queer "It has eyes everywhere, You can't escape once you're here" He whispered, as if his last breath And out in the dark I go In the cricket's cries, under the hollow moon I saw a graveyard with tombs dug through "Dead celebrate when the night is nigh For they revel in the living's cry", Said the men with the axe in tow, And out in the dark I go Somewhere out in the dark, distraught The footprints I stumbled upon were gone I had to return the ring, i thought But the one i was carrying was gone Where am I? I wish I would've known I stared into the abyss, all alone No soul within, nor outside stark I shouldn't have gone out in the dark I shouldn't have gone out in the dark

It will be helpful. I have to go back to the city, anyway, and who knows what’s waiting for us there? You might need it.” He stared into her eyes, frozen as they were locked together. “You’re going back?” “I’m going to be the one to blow up the city.” His lips parted, and for a moment she thought he was going to tell her no. He would argue that it wasn’t safe. She would tell him that nothing they did was safe. They would go to bed angry at each other and maybe ruin all of this before it had a chance to really start. Instead, his warm hand came up to cup her jaw. “You are brave, kalon. Far more than you have any right to be.” Relief, unlike anything she’d ever felt, flooded through her. With a sharp nod, she stopped looking into his eyes and instead locked her gaze on the arm. “I am glad for you. It’s a complicated feeling, that’s all. Seeing you like this... whole now...” He moved so quickly she didn’t even see him twitch. The strap went up and over his head. He wrenched the arm off, and she could see there were tiny wires that had wriggled their way into his skin. He pulled those out without a single flinch. Blood dripped from the little holes that were left behind as he dropped the arm onto the floor. “Whole?” he growled, wrapping his hand around her waist and tugging her against him. Water splashed up to her knees with the force of his movement as he dragged her against his chest. “My lack of arm has nothing to do with feeling whole. A metal device or not, I was never whole before you. You were the first person to look at me and see a man after my injury. Not a mistake, not a failure. You were the one to see me. My kalon, if you wished me to shed my skin, I would. If the arm makes you uncomfortable, then I will drop it into the deepest pits of the sea.” “That’s not what I want,” she said with a watery laugh. “I don’t want you to not be whole again because of me.” “I am only whole because of you.” He pressed his lips to hers, the long kiss tasting of salty tears and seawater. When he drew back, he pressed their foreheads together and took a deep breath with her. In and out. “Anya. It’s just an arm. A tool to be used, but never something that is part of me. I will use it to bring you to victory, but it does not change who I am.

The muscles of his jaw jumped even more until he looked down at her. Then everything in him seemed to freeze. Pausing as his eyes danced over her features. “If we do not see each other again, my kalon, I wish for you to know that I have never been more honored than to have a woman like you at my side.” He swallowed hard again, his eyes still flicking over hers. “I do not know how your people say this.” Oh, this sweet, wonderful man who had no idea how much he had wriggled his way into her heart. She reached up and framed his face with both of her hands, staring into those black eyes that showed so much more than he knew how to say. “We say I love you.” “I have heard this from Mira before.” “From Mira?” she repeated with a laugh. He shook his head. “She has said it to Arges. Tell me what this word means.” “It’s not about the word itself. It’s about the feeling in here.” She moved one of her hands to his chest. “It means that living without you feels wrong. That to be parted from your side makes me miss you more than I miss breathing fresh air. And that I will always think of you, no matter how far I am from you.

A woman sat in the corner, something in her hands as she waved them in front of her in a graceful dance. Her fingers flew over the air before her, as though she were playing some instrument he could not see. Her golden hair fit in with this place, just like the yellow dress she wore. But it was her hair that he could not stop staring at. It was so... elegant. A smooth waterfall of golden color that was pinned in place with some claw shaped device that held all the locks where she wanted them. But he wanted to rip that out of her head. He wanted to see the shiny tumble and to feel if it was as smooth as it looked. His fingers spasmed in the water, a strange reaction considering he also wanted to kill her. She was too small for him to be interested in. His hearts did not beat for someone that would break the moment he first touched them. Not to mention she was so perfect. A little golden statue hidden in the middle of her golden city. So pretty and perfect and wrong for him. A monster would leave smudges on something so lovely as she.

And still, he did not bring her back. Because in some fucked up way, he wanted to keep her to himself. Sighing, he stared up at the entrance to the facility. He knew he was done fighting against this. He wanted to touch her. Taste her. Know everything about her. He wanted to steal what little he could before they were forced to part. And they would be forced. He was certain of that.

That's what living is. Keeping ourselves busy, averting our eyes so we don't have to stare into the abyss. Because it would drive us insane.

She sees love as a thing that is expanding like the universe and if love is a universe then she's travelled to the very edge of it. She has stood on the edge of love and looked over the side and stared into the abyss of it, and she has seen death down there, then rebirth and death again.

When the chords arrived, the words were never far, riding melodies and rhythms I’d only dreamed of. Other times, the words came first, a phrase of longing or exaltation of the life I’d given myself permission to live. I would sit for hours, hunched over your keys, staring through your abyss of exposed string and wire, holding ideas like fragile bodies until you wrapped them in your armor.

Another abyss that we have cross, another abyss that we have to stare into in the hope it won't stare back to us.

What can I do for you?” Janet is regarding me with the combination of concern and resignation that I haven’t seen in a long time—the look people give you when the very worst has happened, and really, there isn’t anything anyone can do for you, for any of us, because some of us die early and inconveniently and there is no way to predict if it will be you next, and before you know it, mourner and comforter are staring dead-eyed into the abyss.

Stare into the abyss, they say, and the abyss will stare back into you.

I truly believe Taylor Swift was staring deep into the abyss of the attention-seeking whore that is my soul when she wrote Mirrorball.

Speaking of a full house," Matteo said, rearranging his decanters and casting Arthie a look, "you won't be able to enter the Athereum armed. Not even with a renowned pistol such as yours." Renowned and, what Matteo wasn't aware of, *special.* She drew her pistol and shifted it in the light. Gold pooled into the dark abysses of its filigree. Flick was staring; Laith pretended he wasn't. But they didn't have to worry about Calibore being seen or getting him kicked out. "This?" Arthie asked, pointing it at him. "He'll dress up nice enough for the occasion. Just like the rest of us will.

Voran could find no words for a long time, content only to look into the abyss of her eyes. It was never easy for him to look into another person’s eyes. It was dangerously intimate, and he was squeamish about that kind of intimacy. Looking into her eyes was like staring from a peak at a river at the bottom of a valley, jumping down without closing his eyes, and then plunging into the river, only to find it had no bottom. There was no single word for it.

There is the Abyss, which is what everyone thinks of when they picture the Shadowlands—fiery pits and endless torment,” he said, staring at the strand of my hair. “But there is also the Vale, and that is paradise for those worthy.” “What is the Vale like?” His gaze lifted to mine, searching. A moment passed. “That, I cannot tell you.” “Oh.” Disappointed, I lowered my gaze to the long fingers that held my hand. “What awaits in the Vale cannot be shared with anyone, mortal or god. Not even Primals can enter the Vale,” he added. “But the rest of the Shadowlands is like an entryway—a village before the city. It is beautiful in its own way, but it was once one of the most magnificent regions in all of Iliseeum.” Once was? “What happened to it?” “Death,” he stated flatly. A chill swept over me. “What is the rest of Iliseeum like?” “The skies are a color of blue you would never see in this realm, the waters clear, and the grass lush and vibrant,” he told me. “Except for when it’s night, the hours of darkness are brief in Dalos.” My breath caught. Dalos. The City of the Gods, where the Primal of Life—Kolis—and his Court resided.

Staring into the abyss of the blank page, thoughts form a perception searching for a voice.

He cared too much. It had dragged him to the very edge of darkness, left him staring into an abyss so deep and hopeless that sometimes he thought death was the only escape. But he couldn’t seem to stop, so he’d embraced that, too. Control.

Sometimes I look at you and I wonder,” he says, his voice taking on a strange quality, like it’s being filtered, muffled, “what power your blood could bring.” It’s not what he says at the end there that makes my blood run cold. And it’s not the Irish accent that he says it in. It’s that when I look at his eyes, I don’t see Jay anymore. I see someone else entirely. Stare into the abyss and the abyss stares right back. Silas Black. “Ada!