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cinderellla

Paperback Castles

I live on a page in a book. My name is written in a curly and swirly font, along with long descriptions of sleepless nights and filled bookcases.

Currently reading

Swann's Way (In Search of Lost Time, #1)
Marcel Proust, Lydia Davis, Christopher Prendergast
Swanns verden 2 (På sporet af den tabte tid, #2)
Marcel Proust
The Essential Rumi
Rumi, Coleman Barks, John Moyne, A.J. Arberry
The Fault in Our Stars - John Green I finished this book an hour ago, and I cannot, cannot, cannot seem to stop crying. Not the hysterical and loud sobs kind of crying, but the silent one tear after another kind of crying. I even left little perfectly round marks in the borrowed library book, creating an everlasting evidence to future loaners, that this book was capable of breaking me down into a dissolvement of tears.

My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.

This is John Green at his best. I will always love his delicate way with words. His writing is not always disguised in complex metaphors, but sometimes simply clean and neat - his sentences testify the harsh reality of the world, emphasizing on the way people actually think, speak and act, and yet his writing is perfectly lyrical and breathtaking at the same time.

"It seemed like forever ago, like we've had this brief but still infinite forever. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

There's nothing new to this story. It is utterly predictable and completely old. But that's just it. Green manages to make a typical cliché come to life before your very eyes, with his heartbreakingly beautiful use of language, his vivid and so life-like characters, his irony and his compassion. This is not a plot-driven book. It is however a book that will live on inside of you forever, encouraging deep thoughts and even deeper feelings.

I will have to read this again. Soon. And I will need to buy my own copy that I can fill with the marks of my countless tears without anyone ever noticing except for me.