BEENISH F. AHMED

Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar…
-  William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury (via wordsnquotes)
Sometimes at night I would sleep open-eyed underneath a sky dripping with stars. I was alive then.
- Albert Camus (via feellng)

myvoicemyright:

Acid attack survivors in India model new clothing range for powerful photoshoot

Survivors of acid attacks in India have become the face of a new clothing range designed by a woman who had acid thrown in her face while she was asleep four years ago.Delhi-based designer Rupa and her friends Rita, Sonam, Laxmi and Chanchal modelled the clothes from her new range, Rupa Designs, for photographer Rahul Saharan.

Rupa suffered extensive injuries when her stepmother threw acid in her face while she was sleeping in 2008.

She was allegedly left without any medical aid for six hours before her uncle found her and transported her to hospital, where she underwent eleven operations and spent three months being cared for.

Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.
- William Strunk Jr., The Elements of Style (via aestheticintrovert)

(Source: literary-ethnography)

Sometimes, being a journalist can feel like being trapped in a finals’ week that never, ever ends.

Sometimes, being a journalist can feel like being trapped in a finals’ week that never, ever ends.

I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.
- Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis (via feellng)

"It is astonishing the sense of innocence that goes with sin — only the hard and careful man and the saint are free of it. These people went out of the stable clean; he was the only one left who hadn’t repented, confessed, and been absolved. He wanted to say to this man, ‘Love is not wrong, but love should be happy and open — it i only wrong when it is secret, unhappy…It can be more unhappy than anything by the loss of God. It is the loss of God. You don’t need a penance, my child, you have suffered quite enough,’ and to this other, ‘Lust is not the worst thing. It is because any day, any time, lust may turn into love that we have to avoid it. And when we love our sin then we are damned indeed.’ But the habit of the confessional reasserted itself: it was as if he were back in the little stuffy wooden boxlike coffin in which men bury their uncleanliness with their priest. He said, ‘Mortal sin…danger…self-control,’ as if those words meant anything at all. He said, ‘Say three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys.’

— from The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene