New Zealand, that’s where they made Lord of the Rings. I say we just move there, yo, and, I mean, you can do your art. Right? Like, you can paint the local castles and shit, and I can be a bush pilot.
—Jesse Pinkman
Was offered Swedish love and French love. But not American love. American love; like Coke in green glass bottles. They don’t make it anymore.
— Rorschach, Watchmen
They did such a good job with the helm.
(Source: tinkered)
This confession has meant nothing
One year ago I picked up American Psycho at Barnes and Noble. Remembering how fondly I felt towards the movie, I figured it was time to enjoy the source material. One year ago I put down American Psycho because I found it maddening. Patrick’s development was there but it was buried beneath seemingly repeating passages and unending elaboration on ensembles, designers, and pop stars. One year later I picked up American Psycho from my bookshelf. Remembering how strangely charming Christian Bale’s portrayal of psychotic monster Patrick Bateman was. One day later I put down American Psycho because I had finished it, and was thoroughly revolted.
One cannot raise walls against what has been forgotten
The Darkness That Comes Before… what to say? This was one of the more challenging things I’ve read lately. Not since House of Leaves has a book made me feel like the drooling moron that I am. I liked the book, I did, but my own personal flaw of being terrible with keeping names and locations straight burned as bright as the evening star during the course of this book. All of the sideways umlauts and chinese tiger magic confounded me to the point of helplessness, but I pressed forth. As faces began to repeat instead of debut I got comfortable.
Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat. Let him be king of ashes
—A Storm of Swords
The blood of regals shall run like a river
The Briar King - the untamed power of wilderness incarnate. Long thought relegated to legends and children’s rhymes. But when the King’s holter, Aspar White, goes out investigating ritualistic sacrifices and murdered squatters in the Kingswood, it seems the line between legend and reality might be blurring. In addition to the killings, Aspar finds himself bumping heads with a terrifying creature known as the greffyn which is deadly enough to kill with its breath alone. Aspar’s non-believer attitude is quickly turned on its ear. Later, thwarting a kidnapping in progress, Aspar liberates a young studious monk named Stephen, on his way to begin his service to the church. The two of them uncover different sorts of corruption, and both set out to do something to stop it.
I’d sooner drink a pint of piss than take the word of any Frey.
—Marq Piper
