You know what’s sad about reading books? It’s that you fall in love with the characters. They grow on you. And as you read, you start to feel what they feel - all of them - you become them. And when you’re done, you’re never the same. Sure you’re still you, you look the same, talk in the same manner, but something in you has changed. Something in the way you think, the way you choose, sometimes, even the things you say may differ. But it all comes down to the state you go to after a nice novel. The after-feeling. It’s amazing, but somehow, you feel left alone by that world you were once in. It’s overwhelming. But it makes you sad. Cause for once you were this, this otherworldly being in… Neverwhere, and then you suddenly have to say goodbye after a few weeks from when you read the last page. When you’ve recovered from that state. It’s just… quite sad.

Hunger Games (via katyjean)

This is the way I feel about all great stories, whether they’re told in novels, movies, history books, or on television. Sometimes I almost feel like an addict — I just can’t let the really engrossing ones go!

(via dreamwithinanightmare)

So once again I am obliged to speak to you about yourself. I must do my best to demonstrate to you your own value. What you ask for is truly stupid. People are making fun of you; pleasantries set you on edge; no one does you justice, etc., etc. Do you think you’re the first to be placed in this position? Have you more genius than Chateaubriand and Wagner? And did people make fun of them? They did not die of it. And so as not to make you feel too proud of yourself, I shall add that these men were exemplary, each in his own genre, and in a world which was very rich, while you, you are only the first in the decrepitude of your art.

Baudelaire, consoling Édouard Manet after the reception of his Olympia in the 1865 Paris Salon. (Quoted in T. J. Clark’s The Painting of Modern Life: Paris in the Art of Manet and His Followers.)

This made me LOL so hard. I’m going to have to remember to read this the next time I let criticism get me down. (Also hilarious: Baudelaire later talks about seeking an eyewitness account of Manet’s pictures. “I wanted the personal impression of Monsieur Chorner, at least insofar as a Belgian can be considered a person.”)

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