Newest quotes & creative writing ideas


Streaks of pink wander to the end of the earth, as a blazing orange sets fire to the clouds. A light purple reaches to the horizon. A cool breeze brushes against my skin sending chills all around my body. For a day to end so beautiful shares proof that life can do the same. Thoughts swarm through my head as the red fiery orb disappears. The sun is now halfway across the earth. The sun has set.

an economy without money

An economy without money. Just think about it.

No one is forced to work; people do their jobs out of the kindness of their heart, just for the wellbeing of themselves and others. Need some food? Just go to the shop, pick it up, and walk out. You're not stealing. It was made for you, and everyone else.

There would be little to no thefts. Why steal something when it's free? Besides, if something's been stolen from you, you can simply go and pick up another one from the shop. Sure, the shop might be far, or maybe you won't have any of the things you've stored in your device, if any, but it's not the end of the world. And stealing from a shop is impossible; everything's free anyway.

What about spoilt brats? You can't really be a spoilt brat if everyone else is equal, and can get exactly what you have.

But who will build our roads? Fly our planes? Plant and harvest our food?

Anyone could. If only there were enough good in this world. If only we weren't at risk of people simply being evil or greedy. Because how can you be greedy if there's no money?

If only.

If only we lived in an economy without money.


You said that you loved me, but that was all a lie, wasn't it? All I wanted from you was your love, but once you got me in bed a few times you threw me out like I was yesterday's trash. You said you cared and loved me, but you didn't. A few bumps in the relationship and you break up with me over text, telling me you still care about me. I don't believe you. I loved you; no... I love you and you broke me into a million shards. For the longest time, I have wanted you, for the longest time. But you left me. I let you in, I let my walls down, but I regret that now. I regret everything about us. But I can't get you out of my mind, because deep down I still love you and always will.


The room is dark. The curtains are drawn in a vain attempt to filter the orange glow of the streetlights illuminating the street outside. I glance at the digital clock at the side of my bed, the numbers 0225 glowing in a bright green. I sigh wearily. Unable to sleep, I sit upright on my bed, my legs outstretched and covered with my warm duvet. Nights like these are usually quiet, but it isn’t today, because the pitter-patter of rain lingers in the background, like the heartbeat of a mother that cocoons the fetus in her womb. It brings an odd sense of protection and safety along with it. It makes me feel somewhat less alone. Sometimes the rain goes pit-a-pat against the glass of my windows, often sounding like the gentle tapping of someone against it. Intrigued, I push a little bit of the heavy curtains and peek outside. Droplets of water streak down the window panes as it rains on. Odd, fluid shapes spiked at even odder angles that leave trails whenever they move downwards definitely are captivating sights for an insomniac at this time of the day. Through the rain I can make out the street outside. Everything is the same, only grayer and blurred with softer edges. Puddles of rain form in the potholes of the street, temporary homes for little creatures outside.


As I crossed into the attic, darkness engulfed even my silhouette. The dollar store flashlight illuminated the messy room: books scattered, antique furniture inches deep in dust, old paintings, cobweb covered walls. Claustrophobia washed over me from head to toe. The beams above were creaking as the storm winds howled - old, and wet from the frequent rainfall. Every moment I spent in the room seemed to be a temptation for the beams to collapse.

Nervous or Anxious

Her perfectly manicured hand rested on the doorknob of the tattoo parlour, the peeling white paint clinging to her clothes as she rested on the sagging doorframe. She turned to her friend. Bad idea. One glance spoke years of hidden grief. Her smoky eyes began to glint like the aftermath of a lightning strike. Clouds of grey threatened to flood, but she took a shuddering breath and gathered her strength. Turning towards the door now, she twisted the doorknob and pushed with the points of her fingernails, allowing the rush of cold air to paint the usual mask on her face.
Behind her, the morning yawn of Autumn brought a single white feather spiralling to a rest in the golden blanket that covered the cobblestone path.

a new relationship

"I can tell you how this is gonna go, but I'm begging you to prove me wrong. First we'll flirt and get close, then the closeness will trigger a panic in me I can't control and I'll go cold, like ice. I will retreat. I'll be careful not to cause damage because I have at least learnt that much. Then, when the fear of being hurt all over again has passed I'll come back to you, warm and affectionate, feeling guilty, feeling worried that I've lost you. It will look like 'fire and ice,' or 'push and pull,' but in truth it is an emotional wave that is painful and internal to me. I will know you are being kind, steady, perhaps confused. In the end, very few stick with me; but for those that do it is an eternal friendship and I would walk through fire and ice for those I love. So, throw a penny in a well, my love, and make a wish; I already did the same."


How could I become so indifferent to brutality, ferocity and savagery? Perhaps I strayed a little too far from the shores of reason.


In life, there are no chapters. You have no book to read, no story that shows much of a purpose. You have the ups and downs of life, yes, but when was there ever a book to read about you? There is no book dedicated to you. There is no book about your life story. If someone wants to know about it, they should stick by your side and ride along with you. Jennifer taught me this.

Jennifer is dead; where is her book? Where is that happy ending everyone was looking forward to? If her life started with, "In a land far, far away grew a beautiful baby girl," where was her happily ever after? It wasn't there. It was never to be there either. So why in the hell would there be a book for our lives when they don't end the right way, or the way they're suppose to?


The Darkness took everything. It sucked the glowing marrow from the campfires, plucked the stars from the sky like a land baron fingering grapes from the vine. Not even the sun was spared as it plunged to the ground never to return. The Darkness came and brought with it the haunts and spooks that gather at our doors at night pleading to be let in. We are abandoned now in this never ending night. We are the children Chroma forgot and have now become the play things of something long forgotten. We have killed the God of Light and something worse has replaced him.

aging woman

At 1: Crawling on the soft carpet, surrounded by her loved ones. Clapping and cheering for accomplishing the simple task. Food dribbles down her velvet skin, the wet food sliding down the bib like slime oozing from a monster, yet coos are made and only a small taunt is given.
At 15: She walks fine, and in fact she swaggers. Her attitude, behaviour, composure radiates confidence, maybe too much confidence. Without asking, food is brought to her yet no thanks or gratitude is expressed. No one cares whether she is eating, all are pre-occupied with their own business- bills, work, money.
At 25: An independent woman. Food is made by herself, yet it is barely a sustainable diet; ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Tasty... She has become a robotic mouse, waking up, driving, working, eating, sleeping, the routine is maintained for many years. No-one recognizes her achievement unless she has graduated, married or done something spectacular. Everyone is trying to outshine one another - 'trivial' achievements don't matter.
At 45: She coos at the child cradled gently in her arms. She herself looks different- the crazed robotic look is not there and neither is the confidence at fifteen; she is tired. Her eyes are weary and swollen, her feet ache from the demanding jobs and the child's wails act like sirens in her head. But, only love seems to be evident, the gentle touch on the baby's sweet moist hair, and the caring eyes never blinking at the child for fear they would miss this precious moment.
At 75: She is almost crawling once again, if not for the worn wooden stick she would crawl on the cold, hard ground. No-one is around her, the parents who cheered for her and provided have long left the world, yet even her kids whom she had provided for are not with her either. Each is too busy, occupied with their own lives they neglect their loving mother. The food tastes horrible, inedible.
At 80: Gone. No longer in this world, yet her grave surrounded by her kids.


Without hesitation, they both slowly moved in. Their lips finally united together, her plump, velvety lips compelling against his slimmer, warm ones, dancing around and soon bonding together. Epiphany and elation percolated into their veins and soon the entire system as he continued to press his lips more impenetrably and rougher onto Avery’s lips. His insistent mouth was parting her trembling lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, inflicting sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling. Then, she kissed him back, the kiss getting deeper, deeper than all the galaxies in the universe. Her vanilla lips imprinting themselves on Caden’s like a footprint in the snow, forging a sense of exoticism and roguery.
No one has ever kissed her like this. Ha! Nobody had ever kissed her. She'd always wondered what stories meant by melting in a kiss, now she fully understood, dissolving into Caden’s lips.


They weren’t horrific because they were decaying. They were horrible because they still looked human. Aside from the missing patches of flesh and the torn clothing, the drying blood and white and red eyes, they looked normal.


My eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. Everything became fuzzy; then I saw nothing at all. My consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space my heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in my ears, alongside fading pleas for help.
Feeling in my body drained away until finally all was black.

Brown eyes

His eyes were the color of deep sienna, with a mischievous glint that seemed to reflect the corners of his mouth, which were fighting a smile. They were every shade of brown you could imagine, a raw umber and caramel mix, dotted with bits of dark chocolate. They glow with humor and playfulness that gives you shivers and wraps you in a warm embrace at the same time.


It’s strange, I knew I’d been meandering through the forest for no more than about 30 minutes, yet the almost claustrophobic blackness got me to wondering whether darkness had fallen beyond the woods. And so, perhaps in a of moment of reassurance, I felt in my pocket for my torch, I checked my compass; made sure it was tied secure to my belt loop, just in case, and slipped it back in my pocket after confirming north. The thickets and branches were all out for mischief, I could barely walk a meter without some miscreant offshoot weaving itself around my legs and pulling me face-down into the loam. Branches of neighbouring trees entwined and interlocked from every height and angle, and conspired to divert my direct route harrowing my every step, pulling at my coat and trousers, scratching at every exposed part of my body, drawing drops of my blood. Some of the bolder branches, in their devilry, delivered punishing and stinging thwacks that could only be matched by Dickens’ Whackford Squeers.


The lie slipped out, smooth and easy like melted butter running down toast.

hysterical crying

The world turned into a blur, and so did all the sounds. The taste. The smell. Everything was just gone. I paused trying to hold back the strange feelings rumbling inside me but I couldn’t. A lone tear traced down my cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened. So many tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down my face. My chin trembled as if I was a small child. I breathed heavier than I ever had before. I was gasping for air that simply wasn’t there. My throat burned forming a silent scream. Is this what crying felt like? A part of me dying inside yet, relief…

war ravaged

I can remember, the people I’ve lived with as long as I could remember, their piercing screams, they tore through me like great shards of glass, desperate, terrified, I felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, my heart thudding like a rock rattling in box. What was happening? That was the day… That was the day I lost everything…

The day it happened, I had been at school. I was writing away happily, I didn’t know, but I should’ve enjoyed the happiness while I could. At that moment, the thick scent of melted paint and scorched wood entered my nose. My vision became blurry. Black smoke filled the room, and filled my lungs. Everyone started coughing started in an instant like the tears that washed over my eyes. I had become hazy and could barely see, all I could hear was the teacher, speaking in a soft whisper.
“You...all…leave…once…now…go…exit...understand? ” That was all I could hear.
I just followed the panicking children in my class to the emergency exit. Just then, for a moment I saw the flames burn with colours I never thought it would. With each flare I know another bit of my town is alight. I was the last to get to the door, wheezing and desperate for air. Instantly, when I couldn’t see where I was going, I collapsed to the floor before I could make it and I felt a pain that isn't sharp like a needle point or a knife, and I felt it burn my insides like I was taking a shower in boiling hot water. I barely managed to crawl out, but when I did I felt a piercing pain go down my leg. And when I looked down, all I could see was my leg burning.


I let people down. I let them down so far that there is not enough light for them to see that I didn't mean it, they cannot see the look in my eyes that says that I would do anything to change it, they cant even find a ladder to climb their way out of the deep misery I put them in. At least, that's what they tell me. That I descend them so far into darkness that there is no getting out. And so, that is what I tell myself.