Dark Academia Quotes

“His fangs brushed against my lower lip. My breath caught as I slid my tongue over those sharp points, feeling their edge. He was dangerous. But instead of fear, that knowledge was only fueling the tempest inside of me.”
― Briar Boleyn, On Wings of Blood

“The only difference between bright white and pitch black is illumination...”
― Elle Parker, The King's Maiden

“He leaned back against the table, then gestured to all of the books in front of me. “What are you reading about, anyhow?”
“Just researching ways to kill you,” I said sweetly. “Vampire Murder Methodology 101.”
― Briar Boleyn, On Wings of Blood

“She'd fallen asleep in my arms. It was such a simple thing. So why did it feel like a miracle I could barely process?”
― Briar Boleyn, The Bond That Burns

“THE SHEETS & THE LIGHT
Sombre echoes
that mark the dawning greying on the hill;
the steep streets still wet from rain the small buildings look emptier with each day passing on;
Thoughts are done passing rounds counting circles inside my head.
Pale mirror-faces
crossing me on the way back to the place that felt like home - falling back in time.”
― Laura Chouette

“COLOURS IN THE MIRROR
One day my pride will outlive myself and whatever remains of its colours will be remembered by others - for I was always my true self.
I live too little for things that make me dream & care too much for fears that sleep in between the fine lines of my weary mind - so write me gentle words, for it may break.
My diversity should not be a mistake but a celebration of identity & guiding light to others who ache to leave the numbness of »pretending-to-be«.
We are not broken mirrors that hurt the world by showing our true reflection;
we are merely hearts used to rejection - yet, their words will only blur but not break our shine.”
― Laura Chouette

“ATHENA
They fall silently.
the steps of her arrival - crossing snow so pale even the morning sky would fade into nightfall's amber;
For she has entered the palace of gold - her hair braided with hope and tainted with red leaves
which colours remind of a hanged man's rope - for her name is war
and her crown is crafted out of grief.”
― Laura Chouette

“CROSSROAD
Lights flicker above the crossroad shining in green now and then for people who won't cross and red for others - which won't stop;
The dull grey splits the city in pieces of lines and corners, sometimes outshined by heavy rain and flooded glimpses of chaos;
Broken glass upon crimson roads empty silence and nothing to say - while the city sleeps on and will awake, eventually.”
― Laura Chouette

“PIECES OF LIGHT
I see the art of each heart reflecting the mirror
that the world put it in front of - for so long that the lines so once so clear became hate for everything we see - blurring out the real;
Seeing a thousand lights reflecting one's own means nothing anymore, now that we live by the one offered by the world;
The price of being a small part of everyone's standard is being praised so, we may break into one single piece.”
― Laura Chouette

“ASBOLUTION
Our paradise is not made out of worldly things but of the broken fragments of heaven - laced with doubt and forgiveness;
Nearly silent we promise each other absolutisation for every promise we ever dared to make with words and deeds - yet I feel incomplete.”
― Laura Chouette

“WEDNESDAY MIRAGE
How far do they reach the rivers of our grieve - far beyond the horizon and deep into a soul;
Suffering can feel like drowning in numbness and being awake for days;
It's roots growing further then our mind can go and make dark a heart that once was full of light;”
― Laura Chouette

“THE MEADOWS OF MEDEA
'The meadows lay weeping with tears like an emerald's gleam; while every nightingale is seeking the shelter of its only willow's green.
And silently,
my step falls on leaves
that carry me much further than I'd dream; for willows and thoughts are fading slowly while everything eternal is not seen - and yet they keep
so many of us in good company - for some can not be on their own, nor can they be free.
So I found peace,
the one eternal each one seeks
and so I left my soul for emerald's gleam; while the meadows still lay weeping with grief over my grave so quietly for it lays beneath the shadow of its only willow's green.”
― Laura Chouette

“MARBLE GRAVES
The silver moon stands silent between two cypresses - its light leaning against the walls of the old palazzo that lays in ruin.
Hidden behind olive groves lays the tomb of forgotten men and unsung heroes.
Their souls found peace
within the Allgrove's of singing cicadas and rustling long grass.
The marble is heavy
and their graves cool and dark - deep is their sleep eternal their demise.
The moon is slowly covered by a shroud of clouds, cypresses now lay in darkness - silence.”
― Laura Chouette

“OUR OLYMP
At this altitude of wavering faith and dying stars our love could not stand a chance;
it disappears slowly within my rhymes sky.
Fading along the pale darkness like a path of crumbling anecdotes on old crumpled philosophers' notes.
I can not see the moon anymore - neither I can imagine the place where it should rest tonight
in the sky of ours, where it used to be so bright.
The Gods themselves dare not make a home at this height of our hearts, for even the immortals would refuse to hold sacred a place so high.
Even our wishes refuse to fall at the mountains feet, still climbing, trembling, and slowly loosing
- defeat.”
― Laura Chouette

“DYSTOPIA
Dark, early streets and high walls of empty houses a lonesome bird singing a hollow duet with its own echo -
autumn feels like spring once you have lost everything and stand with nothing to hold onto at winter's edge -
walkways glooming in buzzing orange neon light imitating fallen leaves, making the city's concrete jungle a forest -
soon November is here, crawling along the pavement and dulling the grey of the ruins they call buildings -
sudden flickering accompanied by loud buzzing: the lights went out while winter's edge cuts violently through the streets & building cracks -
the bird stopped singing.”
― Laura Chouette

“FLORENCE
Soft emerald valleys lay in crimson light beneath the rolling hills;
the waters of the Arno gleam like bronze the city's vein, so still.
Each artist at the shore of the river stares in wonder and delight - how far do the lines reach across the bridge, beyond their work?
One may seek rest under the cypresses and soft light of the August amber sun - here, at his grave, the city walls lay high around the garden, he knew once as paradise.
His dark eyes still seem to pierce the lines of the hills,
like he searches for his soul - still;
(somewhere between the Arno and the nightfall).
The trees - heavily laid with summer's fruit - stand high above the city in marble glance.
Clear is now the dark sky - full of shards which dreamers call the stars.”
― Laura Chouette

“THE MONSTER & THE MAN
One obstacle pierces his soul and calls him down the dark road - heavy sighing he must carry on and at last, the thorn is retrieved
- with agony in his brown eyes - he suddenly sees:
Fever dreams, scarlet on blue velvet, like ink drowning in words - words drowning inside his veins - words that pleaded in vain - words so scarlet... so stained.
Empty lines for empty souls that carry too much inside; empty pages for empty hands with nothing else to hide
nor to control the beast inside his soul.”
― Laura Chouette

“SIENA
I wander down the steps along the walls of bricks and high houses -
down to the waters that lay deep.
Streaming down from the hill on which the old city was built with a tower standing high, that reaches up
not far from the grave that these waters lay in.
Alabaster is the hand that reaches in it and cold is the heart that touches the pale divine.
Beating fast after climbing back to the light and narrow streets - I found now what it seeks.
Descending down, down to the hidden stream - oh Siena, my goddess without a pomegranate seed.”
― Laura Chouette

“THE BALLADE OF SUMMER'S FALL
Hues of pale green, on delicate olive branches the soft rustling of somberness along the fields of gold that lay themselves to gentle rest after another long summer.
I have nothing to bury under them
except my own heart -that is my soul's greatest regret, once my lines begin to fill in autumn, under the velvet gloom of shortening days.
The admiration of the Florentine sun had doomed my words to become eventually a remembrance once September falls in October's pale hands.
I shall have nothing to grieve for
once the winter arrives, coming over the distant hills and laying bare the orchards along his way.
I doomed them to become ruins by overthinking, hoping - at least once too often - for change;
So, let it be then.
I will mourn my mere passion for life in the presence of death - though my art may be eternal.”
― Laura Chouette

“In one's ordinary life, there must always be a place for something exceptional, like poetry... or love.”
― Laura Chouette

“In one's ordinary life, there must always be a place for poetry.”
― Laura Chouette

“What’s ridiculous, little dragon, is that you think you can walk into my space and walk out again without any consequences.”
― Briar Boleyn, The Bond That Burns

“But you bring the fire. You make even the darkness shine. Even dragon fire can’t compete with the way you burn, Pendragon.”
― Briar Boleyn, The Bond That Burns

“SAN GIMIGNANO
The towers align the hills like crowns of heavy stones;
Empty are the dreams of the ones that built them long ago.
The thirst for power still stands frozen in its tracks - the only witnesses of it stand high against the silver sky.
The distance gets smaller, and the towers become higher.
So many have fallen,
laying their family's name to rest, in gentle forgetfulness.”
― Laura Chouette

“A POET'S HOMAGE TO FLORENCE
What heart dares to look upon a city so golden and is not moved to write a single line?
Whose soul can bear such beauty
and not praise it with all its words?
May there be poets without a page left, artists with no colour to give a memory of you; and even lovers who refuse to burn?
My love, your likeness is like marble that makes the altar of paradise.”
― Laura Chouette

“PERSEPHONE (the spring ballade)
Every heart
is blooming upon a field of doubt and the flowers autumn reaps
- he knows every name about.
They grow
never in line, although
always in the shape of each soul of every lonesome doubt.
So whenever
I wander along my sorrow's path the horizon behind me glows crimson with all the broken hearts it carries on.
A thought
yet not dreamt is a love unplanted by hands of grieve - For each who does not bloom by now is long lost in summer's eyes,
For autumn
reaps but does not give a single tear to water the ground in which he steers sometimes so aimlessly.”
― Laura Chouette

“A writer’s heart
does not only hold scars caused by love,
but also those that cross
the lines of unsaid words
and fully-lived, unspoken feelings.

Life is merely a tragedy to a writer,
something that must occur
like the final line of a book,
and like an ink stain that inevitably
taints the fingers of a poet.

Real love, too, must be attained
In the same way.”
― Laura Chouette

“Gods are just demons with good reputations.”
― Vana Elaire, Risen Apes

“”
― Briar Boleyn, The Bond That Burns

“You sound desperate, little wingless one. Did you think I'd abandoned you?”
― Briar Boleyn, The Bond That Burns