Hubert Martin Quotes

I was burdened with an ever-growing heart on the verge of decay. To save myself, I had to give many pieces of my love away. I hope I can give it all to someone, someday.

Anyone who claims good or evil isn't one or either, they're just a liar... the worst kind of liar... the liar that doesn't even know they're lying. We're human. We're good during the day and evil at night, half the time those roles are reversed, that's what it's all about.

I think I feel it The nimble, fleeting emotion That novels and authors desperately Try to convey in ink and heart blood Whose shadow festers in the loins Of teenagers and their insatiability The hidden thing none of us can see Yet we all disagree what it looks like If only it were love... simple, infinite love But this was more, this was bloodshot madness.

...4-5-6: when time escapes the day in its most beautiful way. She starves for that beauty, she longs to quench her limitless thirst, but those moments are so fleeting and their limit is her unrest. Her bones are hollow and heavy as she takes a single step, and in that instant she is gone, blinded by the flash of a stray ray of light, her eyes close in that moment and stars flood her night. She falls forward slow, counting the half seconds of her descent. Her eyes stay closed, her thoughts are spent.

She was small. Her shadow moved in the dance of chaos before her as the inferno blazed behind her and licked the sky with its many tongues. She clutched an indistinguishable toy with both arms tightly. Her face was serene. Her eyes shone with courage more immense than the surrounding flames. She was small, but at that moment, I've never seen a bigger person.

Woven words are little conviction when I present myself as a man of fiction.

I held my breath tightly against the shivers coursing through my body. Darkness ate away the edges of my vision and numbness stole away my fingers. I kept holding though. Watching the last bubble of precious air escape my lips. Then it became all black. But I never let go.

They flew to avoid the horrors of land and sea, Daedalus and Icarus were for few moments free. Though the sun was Icarus' ultimate bane, we came to always remember his name. For he felt the sun's burn, a lesson Daedalus would never learn. When he found his son's corpse and looked upon his face, he saw a smile there fastened in place. He continued his life wondering what his son had seen, hoping it was worth it since his dead smile was so serene. The sun always seemed to mock him after, shining, brilliant, blinding laughter. Daedalus grew withered and haunted by light, preferring the sea's air in the depths of night. He watched lunar birds soar through the stars and away, forever regretting his decision to take flight during the day. He had lost his son to the sun in a twist of anomaly, he wondered which of them truly escaped that day, in all honesty.

Stop the bleeding! Gauze the wound!" And his voice became much softer, "Those are the words... I've yet to write." He died with that exhale. He died in a steaming carmine pool of unwritten stories that incredibly cold night. He always thought his work would take the form of ink, pen and paper, but as the last glow dimmed in his eyes, he realized his most meaningful words were sloppily spilled and patched together using blood, bullet holes and concrete.

An intricate string made up of infinite knots and curls. Taking a step back, it really did seem so fragile. As if the smallest breeze of opportunity would cause it to snap. It held strong though, fastened to me and you as a line of steel.

She was carmine shadows reflecting from my crimson words. Every pulse sent a velvet ripple through the shade. Every breath, a scarlet pause.

I spill my emotions and hopes on pieces of paper and pixels of screens, combining and creating, merging traditional methods with artificial means.Words carved in ink and electricity to facilitate simplicity and eradicate toxicity. No matter what fashion, form, font, method or avenue, the simplest and most meaningful words remain ever so true; I choose and love, only forever you.

Just being around her made me feel better. She had an amber shade aura to her that filled any cracks and brokenness I hadn't yet fixed. I could be myself around her, knowing full well she held on as I let go.

I was lost in the moments I decided to keep. To be awake in a dreamless sleep. And in that place between dream and sleep, I planted some more things I would like to keep.

I always thought time was the most valuable currency, but I realized the people we spent our time on and loved us back, that love held even more meaning to me.

I wanted nothing more than her attention. Her thoughts filled with me. Her eyes lost in my image. I wanted her so badly I didn't even realize I lost myself in the process. Now, when I look in the mirror, I only see her... where is me?

He was a musician of the best nature, with guitar string fingertips and soft flute lips that could tighten in a trumpet's purse. Every movement was perfect, every breath filled with purpose. Whether close or open, his eyes seeped ambition and his body burned with chaotic passion. I was his instrument and he played me so well. His fingers fashioned a tune of ecstasy while his lips felt the reed shudders of my skin. He stole my breath and made it his own, using my lips to create his climactic song. A symphony of electricity and orgasmic bliss, he played me so well his fingers never did miss. Half-circles and hooks with my parted lips as his speaker, I never knew another musician so ruthlessly eager. To finish his song, to hit every note, elongating the melody of every sound from the depths of my throat. He was ambitious, pushing my limits, tearing my reservations and destroying my thresholds, all I could do was phase in and out, my ears ringing from the ballad I was made to produce.

It was her eyes. Soft, meadow-shade eyes with frostbitten edges. Every glance casually held gossamer infinity. Every stare revealed inky black abyss with a hint of divinity.

Inside, my soul is curled tightly bearing the burden of massive sins from another life. And my eyes look far at the hell around me... a sharp grin tugs at the corner of my lips.

She was starmetal bones with kaleidoscope eyes. A cracked framework of unique beauty, a patchwork portrait filled with swirling brush strokes, an amalgamation of delicate light and detailed shatter. I could write a novel about the way she breathes.

And they danced with laughter and tears. They swung each other round and round, the first and last time in years.

What do you do when your words aren't enough? What do you do when your actions have no effect? What do you do when all the fibers of your existence scream just to be heard? And yet, only the most deafening silence returns the echoes of your screams. Is there something beyond words and action?