the only mission i’ve actually done so far is getting liara. i’ve spent the last two days doing every single assignment it’s possible to get at this point. my level is so high and everyone’s skills are crazy and i am rich as fuck and have some of the highest level spectre weapons!!! knowing what the hell you’re doing makes this game so much better omg i am destroying everything and i have the highest amount of charm points so i can make the choices that i always wanted to my first playthrough but wasn’t advanced enough to do so. my shep can now be completely true to herself~
i keep taking kaidan along on things to try and endear him to me so i can save him on virmire without regrets. he’s better than i thought, i guess. being real cool about me choosing liara instead of him. just generally a decent and agreeable dude. he keeps saying the stupidest shit though - “the tiles in those halls remind me of bathroom floors” he said that yesterday and i’m still mad about it
and then, oh my god. i will not romance garrus again
"so tell me, who would win in a fight between you and shepard?" "that question smacks of impertinence! commander shepard is a spectre with a distinguished service record!"
I WILL NOT ROMANCE GARRUS AGAIN I WILL NOT ROMANCE GARRUS AGAIN I WILL NOT.
… Your letter [praising Moby Dick] was handed me last night on the road going to Mr Morewood’s, and I read it there. Had I been at home, I would have sat down at once and answered it. In my divine magnanimities are spontaneous and instantaneous – catch them while you can. The world goes round, and the other side comes up. So now I can’t write what I felt. But I felt pantheistic then – your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s. A sense of unspeakable security is in me this moment, on account of your having understood the book. I have written a wicked book, and feel spotless as the lamb… .
Whence come you, Hawthorne? By what right do you drink from my flagon of life? And when I put it to my lips – lo, they are yours and not mine. I feel that the Godhead is broken up like the bread at the Supper, and that we are the pieces. Hence this infinite fraternity of feeling. Now, sympathizing with the paper, my angel turns over another page. You did not care a penny for the book. But, now and then as you read, you understood the pervading thought that impelled the book – and that you praised. Was it not so? You were archangel enough to despise the imperfect body, and embrace the soul. Once you hugged the ugly Socrates because you saw the flame in the mouth, and heard the rushing of the demon, – the familiar, – and recognized the sound; for you have heard it in your own solitudes… .
If the world was entirely made up of Magians, I’ll tell you what I should do. I should have a paper-mill established at one end of the house, and so have an endless riband of foolscap rolling in upon my desk; and upon that endless riband I should write a thousand – a million – billion thoughts, all under the form of a letter to you. The divine magnet is on you, and my magnet responds. Which is the biggest? A foolish question – they are One.
Herman Melville, letter Nathaniel Hawthorne [x] (via havisham)
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It was a black and hooded head; and hanging there in the midst of so intense a calm, it seemed the Sphynx’s in the desert. “Speak, thou vast and venerable head,” muttered Ahab, “which, though ungarnished with a beard, yet here and there lookest hoary with mosses; speak, mighty head, and tell us the secret thing that is in thee. Of all divers, thou hast dived the deepest. That head upon which the upper sun now gleams, has moved amid this world’s foundations. Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of the drowned; there, in that awful water-land, there was thy most familiar home. Thou hast been where bell or diver never went; hast slept by many a sailor’s side, where sleepless mothers would give their lives to lay them down. Thou saw’st the locked lovers when leaping from their flaming ship; heart to heart they sank beneath the exulting wave; true to each other, when heaven seemed false to them. Thou saw’st the murdered mate when tossed by pirates from the midnight deck; for hours he fell into the deeper midnight of the insatiate maw; and his murderers still sailed on unharmed—while swift lightnings shivered the neighboring ship that would have borne a righteous husband to outstretched, longing arms. O head! thou hast seen enough to split the planets and make an infidel of Abraham, and not one syllable is thine!”