Home > Author > W.M Angel
1 " it somehow felt dissociating. A world in which I did not belong to, or could never belong to. Parties, as if it was 1920, transpired days and nights, spent in the bliss of alcohol, self-indulgence, sex and drug abuse. As if we humans were whores addicted to the ignorance and bliss of nothingness that drugs, sex and alcohol brought about. A never-ending freedom in which we could always come back to if we needed to. Luxurious, the life of the rich. "
― W.M Angel , Atlas Loved: A Novel
2 " I could see that he could taste the salt of her lips, each kiss like a summer wave breaking on an empty beach. She was the fragrant taste his mouth desired. She wanted it all -- lust, love, the deepest of kisses, with the added touch of the most savage of handlings. Together, they wanted to be loved through the language of an honest tongue, devoted heart, and exclusive eyes set only for one another. No matter if they had someone else, they would, in the end, have one another. A false image that they would never forget. "
3 " In a world where violence was perhaps gone, and the hearts of men and women were at peace. Then, maybe then, I would have been a good man. "
4 " Romance is important in the daily life. Not just love and relationships, those are easy. But the act of doing something, working on your art, listening to the world around you. The old world lives, so remember to love it, the world, the actions "
― W.M Angel
5 " I didn’t want to be abandoned, alone, isolated and feeling all of this on my own. He was all I had. All I even could get from this world. But I was a horrible human being, and that was just the start of it all. "
6 " Like Nietzsche once said: 'And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.' We writers were always like that. The damned, dancing like fools around the world - feeling everything around as if it were an ocean wave. "
7 " We were in an age of broken dreams, and destroyed idealism. To see performances was to watch death's hand slowly moving away from the face of his victims -- their souls taken away through the chords of instrumentation and voice. Musicians, reapers made into humans, deceiving others to follow them through reaching others hearts with their musical craftsmanship. Writers, the thieves of the dreaming stow-aways of society. Painters, the men and women who depict the very essence of what they see as our world, and the thieves of hearts. And then, we have the singers: The devil’s voice that could lead masses into battle, with the essence of an angel. Sadly, our worlds weren’t much different. "
8 " I didn’t want to be abandoned, alone, isolated and feeling all of this on my own. He was all I had. All I even could get from this world. But I was a horrible human being, and that was just the start of it all. 6 "
