photo cocobeanntumblr.png I'm Coco. I love many things including, but not limited to:
the Red Sox, Christmas, other holidays, but mostly Christmas, books, pretty people and pretty things,
animals, Harry Potter, traveling, cold weather, the Obamas, Boston, baking, beautiful architecture, red wine, and things that make me laugh.
Basically, I'm a big ball of love.

Did you know that real trees are better for the environment than fake ones? A lot of people think the fake ones are better, because you have to throw out the real ones every year, but real trees produce oxygen and provide wildlife habitats while they grow, and then, when they’re done, they can be ground into mulch to fertilize the earth. While the plastic ones just…rot in landfills. They can take hundreds of years to decompose.

You know, just because you think bubblegum pop on the radio represents all that is wrong with society, that doesn’t mean there’s not someone out there who needs that shitty pop song. Maybe that shitty pop song makes them feel good, about themselves and the world. And as long as that shitty pop song doesn’t infringe upon your rights to rock out to, I don’t know, Subway Sect, or Siouxsie and the Banshees, or whichever old-ass band it is you worship, then who cares?

'You ever feel like that?' she asks, and I don't say anything because anything I tell her will give me away. 'Like you're stuck somewhere and the lid's on tight?'

Feels like art’s the only thing I ever figured out. Words, school, I never got the whole picture. I’d sit there trying to block the sounds of scraping chairs and the other kids. I’d try to make a tunnel round the teacher’s voice so it came to me clear. Most days I couldn’t do it. I’d hear it all and so I’d hear nothing. Like I was standing in a place where every sound was the same level and I couldn’t separate the threads. Like every door in the world was open and the sound was pouring in.

The truth doesn’t set you free, you know. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed and defenseless and red in the face and horrified and petrified and vulnerable. But free? I don’t feel free. I feel like shit.

Siobhan, you’re the whole spice rack as far as some people are concerned.

I can’t believe that adults get to do this every day. And I don’t even mean sex, though it’s wonderful, but things like this. Brushing our teeth at the same sink. Do adults realize how lucky they are? Or do they forget that these small moments are actually small miracles? I don’t want to ever forget.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve talked to the moon. Asked her for guidance. There’s something deeply spiritual about her pale glow, her cratered surface, her waxing and waning. She wears a new dress every evening, yet she’s always herself. And she’s always there.

I don’t understand how everything changes, how the layers of your life get buried. Impossible. At some point, at some time, we must all explode.

Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you- sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt. Just for a second. And if you somehow found a way to live in that second, then you would live forever.

There was almost always something to take delight in, if you were trying.

— Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Laini Taylor