I have been inordinately lucky all my life but the greatest luck of all has been Elizabeth. She has turned me into a moral man but not a prig, she is a wildly exciting lover-mistress, she is shy and witty, she is nobody’s fool, she is a brilliant actress, she is beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography, she can be arrogant and willful, she is clement and loving, Dulcis Imperatrix, she is Sunday’s child, she can tolerate my impossibilities and my drunkenness, she is an ache in the stomach when I am away from her, and she loves me! She is a prospectus that can never be entirely catalogued, an almanack for Poor Richard. And I’ll love her ‘till I die.
In a world where women still worry that they are “too much” — too big, too loud, too demanding, too exuberant — Taylor was a reminder of what a delight it can be, for men and women alike, when a woman really does take full possession of her powers. Burton’s nickname for her was “Ocean.” Sometimes, it seemed too small.
—from Elizabeth Taylor: Heavy Like Wet Roses by Caitlin Moran (republished in Moranthology)
To hell with them. Nothing hurts if you don’t let it.
—Ernest Hemingway, The Paris Wife by Paula McLain (via dionysusandapollo)
If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.
—Zora Neale Hurston (via left-nut)