He decides it's a sign: bad things come in threes. He'll break one more of her things, by accident of course. Then, when that's over, he'll say it; like Jules, he'll croon, he'll sing sweetly into her ear and then she'll know he can talk about love and duct-tape what's broken

The Angel Riots, Ibi Kaslik

We’ll not live like this. They will try to bury us with false manifestoes, inscribe us in wars against false enemies but we’ll sing songs about dying from loving the wrong cowboy and gospel; our bodies will burn in effigies of promise.

I swear.

set yourself on fire

Fast-forward through the humming no-time of wiped tape – into her body. European sunlight. Streets of a strange city. Athens. Greek-letter signs and the smell of dust... and the smell of dust. Look through her eyes (thinking, this woman hasn‘t met you yet; you‘re hardly out of Texas) at the gray monument, horses there in stone, where pigeons whirl up and circle – and static takes love's body, wipes it clean and gray. Waves of white sound break along a beach that isn‘t there. And the tapes ends..

fragments of a hologram rose, william gibson

If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it heavy walls, and we will furnish it with soft red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler's felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.
everything is illuminated, jonathan safran foer