Quotes by S.R. Crawford

She looked down at her bulging veins and she remembered the most important thing that she had forgotten – she was alive.

It is very sad that most of us just aren’t grateful for what we have. If you’re reading this, I think it’s safe to assume that you’re not homeless. You’re not blind. You might be ill, but you’re still alive. And yet, we find it hard to be thankful. To see the gift each day brings us. It is from this lack of true gratitude that we become sad. We have told ourselves over and over that we aren’t happy. That our lives aren’t good. That we’re no good.

OK then, picture daddy; whenever you’re afraid just close your eyes and picture me. I’ll be all that exists in your world and I promise to protect you.

I still need you. Killer, boyfriend, friend, whatever…I need you in my life…if for nothing else, to show me that it’s OK to be broken. It’s OK for things not to be OK.

You’re probably wondering what the heck I mean by “The Pillars of Your Life”, right? Well this is simple. It’s the things that make your life what it is. The things or people that make you, you. There’s work, family, your hobby, your art, and your traditions. Except, some of us have wonky pillars. Some of us give one pillar too much to hold, and the others not enough. One’s too tall, whilst the others are too small. Therefore we become unstable, and sometimes, everything comes crashing down.

Being the people we are, and feeling the way that we do, getting excited about going somewhere new can be terrifying. Of course it is, I get it! But if you don’t travel, you’ll regret it. Your soul will forever be empty.

Don’t you just love meeting new people in new places? It means I can be whoever I want to be. And guess what, sweet’eart? Today…I choose to be your worst nightmare.

Long ago there was a little boy who lived in the wood with his father and his sister. One night, the three of them were out collecting firewood when they heard a low, delicate whimper. The father realised it was an injured animal and ordered the children to fetch water from the lake, whilst he followed the sound. Hours past but the father did not return. The children became fearful for their father’s safety and in their moment of fright, they disobeyed their father in order to find him. And find him they did. However, he was no longer the man he once was. Both his eyes were slit through their centre, oozing blood down the paleness of his face. His neck had been torn open. The entirety of his midsection was split but nothing, not one, single organ, seemed to be left within. Each limb still remained, however they had been dragged, with some exceptional force, in the opposite direction to which they were designed. The children screamed and ran, though the image of their father’s mangled corpse seemed to chase after them. They slept. Within the whisper of the wind came the sweet tune of a woman’s song. The little girl awoke to the feeling of happiness, security and motherly love that the song carried with it. She needed to find the woman it had come from. Leaving her brother, she took off into the wood to try and find the singer. The little boy quickly entered into a spit of panic when he found his sister missing. He didn’t know whether he should call out for her, look for her or wait. But waiting could mean the worst, he thought, and so he took off into the woods after her. He had searched everywhere, every dark corner and decrepit tree, before reaching the lake. The moon reflected off its black surface, which drew his attention to something bobbing within the ripples. It was a leg. When he caught sight of the foot, the boy fell to his knees. He recognised the shoe. It was his sister’s shoe; his sister’s leg. Soon enough, the other body parts came drifting to join the leg, forming a rough manifestation of what was once his sister’s living body. Firstly, there was a head facing down in the water, then arms seemingly blue under the moonlight, and lastly a torso coated in her favourite dress. He felt sick, lost, terrified to his very core. Just as thoughts of never being whole again began to pain his chest, the boy heard the snapping of a twig behind him. He dared to turn around but all he found was a small, black-furred wolf. The wolf approached him timidly, whining deep in its throat to say to the boy that he too was lonely and afraid. The boy put out his hand for the wolf to join him and they sat together. Perhaps he would be OK. Perhaps all that had happened had led to this; something new. He rustled the fur of his new friend, starting with its back then its ear before going under its snout. His hand touched something wet and sticky. He drew it from the wolf to get a better look, only to find a crimson substance now clinging to his small hands. Blood. The wolf turned on the boy as its eyes became a pale blue before thwack! He tore the boy’s face from his head…

A fortress doesn’t fall unless its towers are weakened.

What do you want? What do you want?...To see the world burn, and a new one be born from the ashes…

Letti wasn’t born to pass through the world. She had been born to sit atop of it.

For me to simply tell you to find your life’s purpose, would only worsen your anxiety, not make it better. But that’s not what I want you to do. I simply want you to realise that there is something to be found. That your calling is still out there, and that’s why you might be unhappy.

I never tolerate disrespect or betrayal

Why do the birds return?” “What d’you mean?” Brandon looked lost all of a sudden. “I mean, they could go anywhere. They’re free…so why do they return to this place?” Brandon grinned. “Cause home’s home no matter how bleak.

Then I guess we have a problem…because this man, Luhan Kane, is under arrest by decree of the Elders’ Circle. My authority outweighs yours.

You don’t even know me, or what I am capable of, boy.

I’m scared that you’ll make me love you…and then you’ll leave me.

Relationships take work. It isn’t true love if things go smoothly.

You are a blue rose, Letti. It’s almost impossible that you exist amongst the other roses but you do. You bring wonder to those who are lucky enough to find you. The blue rose is lonely, lost and awaits someone special to believe in them; the same feeling I got from you the day we met. Blue roses are incomprehensible and mysterious. And so are you.

I’m trying to figure out if you know something that I don’t, or if you’re really this stupid. You might be older and therefore a lot stronger than I am, Sphinx, but I am a mother and a lot more pissed off than you.