I did not love less ; indeed I loved more. But the weight of love, like that of an arm thrown tenderly across a chest, becomes little by little too heavy to bear.
Mémoires d’Hadrien, Marguerite Yourcenar
(Source: chadefallstar, via vlajean)
‘Kill me, then,’ panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. ‘Kill me like you killed him, you coward –’
‘DON’T –’ screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them, ‘– CALL ME COWARD!’
And he slashed at the air: Harry felt a white-hot, whip-like something hit him across the face and was slammed backwards into the ground.
(Source: paradeofthesun, via ohdear-prongs)