A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called “leaves”) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic.
Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe.
—Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore
hulkofpersonality asked: Your Harley cosplay is awesome, who else have you done besides her and Ivy? How about...Zelda...?
I’ve worn costumes of Neil Gaimen’s Death and Delirium, Harley and Ivy, Cassie Hack and Kusanagi of Ghost in the Shell.
I loved this costume, it was so much fun finding out who of my friends were comic book fans… now I’ve got to find the one I wore of Poison Ivy the year after!
la-belle-laide asked: I'm always so happy when you say you love your name. I'm planning on having a baby this year, and my first choice if it's a girl has always been Zelda. I think you have to be a certain kind of person to wear a name like that: creative, imaginative, and confident. I hope that if I have a girl, she'll have your kinda swag. :)
Congratulations on your baby plans! Male or female, Zelda or not, I’m sure your baby will be plenty swaggy (I never, ever want to hear myself say that phrase again. Ever). But for future reference, Zelda is an incredibly fun name to have and I’m sure it’d be just as kind to your little one as it has always been to me.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toil me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now ‘tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
—John Keats (part 8, Ode to a Nightingale)