"Cuando me refiero a encontrar a la persona indicada no me refiero a encontrar a alguien que resuelva mis problemas, ni que me sirva de muleta para cuando me sienta decaído. Tampoco me refiero a alguien que esté siempre pensando en mí, que me extrañe o que sienta que me necesita. Sino a encontrar a alguien que esté ahí, que comparta el tiempo conmigo ya que yo le compartiría el mío también. Alguien que sepa estar sin mí pero que prefiera estar conmigo, alguien que sienta y actúe pensando en un “nosotros” y no en un “tú” y un “yo” por separado. Alguien que me ame porque sí y no porque yo le ame."


A Game of Thrones | Jon

“Jon, did you ever wonder why the men of the Night’s Watch take no wives and father no children?” Maester Aemon asked.
Jon shrugged. “No.” He scattered more meat. The fingers of his left hand were slimy with blood, and his right throbbed from the weight of the bucket.
“So they will not love,” the old man answered, “for love is the bane of honor, the death of duty.”
That did not sound right to Jon, yet he said nothing. The maester was a hundred years old, and a high officer of the Night’s Watch; it was not his place to contradict him.
The old man seemed to sense his doubts. “Tell me, Jon, if the day should ever come when your lord father must needs choose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other, what would he do?”
Jon hesitated. He wanted to say that Lord Eddard would never dishonor himself, not even for love, yet inside a small sly voice whispered, He fathered a bastard, where was the honor in that? And your mother, what of his duty to her, he will not even say her name. “He would do whatever was right,” he said… ringingly, to make up for his hesitation. “No matter what.”
“Then Lord Eddard is a man in ten thousand. Most of us are not so strong. What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.
“The men who formed the Night’s Watch knew that only their courage shielded the realm from the darkness to the north. They knew they must have no divided loyalties to weaken their resolve. So they vowed they would have no wives nor children.
“Yet brothers they had, and sisters. Mothers who gave them birth, fathers who gave them names. They came from a hundred quarrelsome kingdoms, and they knew times may change, but men do not. So they pledged as well that the Night’s Watch would take no part in the battles of the realms it guarded.
“They kept their pledge. When Aegon slew Black Harren and claimed his kingdom, Harren’s brother was Lord Commander on the Wall, with ten thousand swords to hand. He did not march. In the days when the Seven Kingdoms were seven kingdoms, not a generation passed that three or four of them were not at war. The Watch took no part. When the Andals crossed the narrow sea and swept away the kingdoms of the First Men, the sons of the fallen kings held true to their vows and remained at their posts. So it has always been, for years beyond counting. Such is the price of honor.
“A craven can be as brave as any man, when there is nothing to fear. And we all do our duty, when there is no cost to it. How easy it seems then, to walk the path of honor. Yet soon or late in every man’s life comes a day when it is not easy, a day when he must choose.”
Some of the ravens were still eating, long stringy bits of meat dangling from their beaks. The rest seemed to be watching him. Jon could feel the weight of all those tiny black eyes. “And this is my day… is that what you’re saying?”
Maester Aemon turned his head and looked at him with those dead white eyes. It was as if he were seeing right into his heart. Jon felt naked and exposed. He took the bucket in both hands and flung the rest of the slops through the bars. Strings of meat and blood flew everywhere, scattering the ravens. They took to the air, shrieking wildly. The quicker birds snatched morsels on the wing and gulped them down greedily. Jon let the empty bucket clang to the floor.
The old man laid a withered, spotted hand on his shoulder. “It hurts, boy,” he said softly. “Oh, yes. Choosing… it has always hurt. And always will. I know.”

Lord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. “Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late… for both of us.”
“Then we should pray that Robert does not die.”
“Small chance of that,” said Renly.
“Sometimes the gods are merciful.”
“The Lannisters are not.” Lord Renly turned away and went back across the moat, to the tower where his brother lay dying.
A Game of Thrones - George R.R. Martin.

Every khal had his bloodriders. At first, Dany had thought of them as a kind of Dothraki Kingsguard, sworn to protect their lord, but it went further than that. Jhiqui had taught her that a bloodrider was more than a guard; they were the khal’s brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. “Blood of my blood,” Drogo called them, and so it was; they shared a single life. The ancient traditions of the horselords demanded that when the khal died, his bloodriders died with him, to ride at his side in the night lands. If the khal died at the hands of some enemy, they lived only long enough to avenge him, and then followed him joyfully into the grave. In some khalasars, Jhiqui said, the bloodriders shared the khal’s wine, his tent, and even his wives, though never his horses. A man’s mount was his own.

Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strenght. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.
Tyrion Lannister - A Game of Thrones
Daenerys targareyen by teiiku
Y entonces vienen y te regalan esta bellezura de cumpleaños y mueres de amor y felicidad.
Mis libros de Stephen King (y parte de mis planes para el 2013 ♥)
4 past midnight es de @mysweetestinsanity pero se lo robé.

Quote: Ernest Hemingway
Photo: Authors Series by Ryan Sheffield
$15 on Etsy
Dentro de nosotros existe algo que no tiene nombre y eso es lo que realmente somos.
—¿Sabes una cosa? Creo que te quiero bastante más de lo que creía.
—Y eso ¿modifica tus planes?
—No. Simplemente los hace más difíciles.
Además te quiero, y hace tiempo y frío.








“Someone should write a book where the main character slowly falls in love with the reader.”

Last line of the book : “Please, don’t close the book, I don’t want to die”

oh my god

I’d just like, keep the book open and tape it to a wall.

I’m almost afraid to want it.

John Green, we’re waiting.

“So I guess this is it, isn’t it? There are no more chapters, right? You said we were getting close and that was a while ago.”
I stared up into the sky, it was the same old sky there had always been, except for some rainclouds that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. It wasn’t raining, but they were still floating up there, grey and dismal.
You begin to ask me something.“Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Things just feel really final right now, like the downward slope is starting to level out. Eventually… We’ll hit the back cover, right?”
I sat down on a bench- had that been there a few minutes ago? It was hard to tell.
“Did you say yes? I think I heard you. Your voice keeps getting harder to hear.”
Thunder rumbled, but… It wasn’t like the thunder I’m used to. It sounded like you, and it sounded sad. From one of the clouds, a single drop of rain fell on the grainy wood of the bench.
“… You’re crying, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I wish I could change this. I wish I could reach where you are.”
Thunder rolled again, and behind it was a voice. Your voice.
“Me? I’ll be fine, I think. I don’t know if this has ever happened before. I don’t really know what happens when you… close the book.”
You ask me if I’m afraid.
And oddly, I’m not.
“No, actually. Because… Whatever happens to me when you close the cover… You can always open the book up again, right?” and that’s when the answer hits me, the realization jolting me to stand again. “That’s it, isn’t it? You can open it back up. The words won’t change, but I’ll still be here. You can meet me all over again, and I can meet you, and everything we have will come back.”
It’s raining now, and the clouds have merged together, and in them, for the first time… I see you. 
You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life.
You’re crying, but it’s quiet, and maybe that was the sound of your tears hitting paper.
I realize that we don’t have a lot of time.
“Listen- before it’s all over- I want you to know that everything, all of this… Even being over, it was worth it. It was worth it to meet you, to get to know you. Even if when you close that cover and I disappear- it was all worth it. I love you.”
You love me too, I know it, I can feel it, just like for a moment I can feel what it would be like to hold your hand.
There is a very long pause, and I realize you’re prolonging what has to happen.
“You can do it.”
For the first time, you have to be the hero. You have to close the book so we can keep going. And I believe in you.
The sky gets darker, slowly, but then it gets light again, and your face is still up in those clouds. You open your mouth and for the first time I HEAR you, not just feel what you’re saying or understand you in my own head, your voice comes through the pages in your world and into the reality of mine, and it reverberates and I can hear every little nuance, down to the hitch from you crying.
“I’ll never forget you,” you say. “I’ll come back soon.”
The end.