Newest quotes & creative writing ideas

negative emotions

Every emotion is okay, helpful in the right situation. The dark emotions are like salt, just a pinch adds flavour, yet too much ruins the entire dish. Envy can be motivation to better the self, when combined with being a good sport and wanting what is best for others, it can bring positive results. A pinch of hate toward an abuser can lead to freedom and a positive life with one who truly loves in the protective and nurturing way. A pinch of greed can help you to hang on to things you need for yourself or loved ones in your care. The trick of it all is to remember what is salt and what is food; the food is love, empathy, kindness, joy, compassion, nurture, protection, integrity... the salt is envy, hate, greed, anger, sloth... If you have vastly more food than salt, everything will be alright.


Milo walks backwards into the blizzard, turning once in a while to check his path. He feels the half-ice pellets bounce from his winter coat and hat. He hears the song of old man winter, his calling for Earth to pause, to dream of warmth and feel the yearning for blossoms and new foliage. He sees his footprints form, as if he were going the other way and smirks, for regardless of the appearance, he's going home to Sam.


Snow rests upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covers the rich, deep wood in perfect white. The snow is a gift-wrap only spring will open, revealing the engrained beauty that lives safely below, protected these long winter months. As the sun rises each morning, bestowing brilliance, igniting colours to vibrant hues - man dreams below of planting seeds, of the bounty of the gardens to come.

abandoned theme park

The sky above the dilapidated theme park was the colour of a television, tuned to a dead channel. I could see the black outline of the hazardous roller coaster above me, parts of it obscured by the fog. Dark ash was scattered across the broken tiles, and vines creep up the walls, finding refuge in the cracks of mortar. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but I could hear creaking from the ancient ferris wheel as it slowly turned on its repetitive path. I could see the silhouettes of trees swaying eerily in the distance, their outlines slightly blurred, giving off a sinister atmosphere.

The temperature seemed to drop, sending chills up my spine. I could smell smoke, it hung suspended in the air above me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The ghosts of children's screams haunted the abandoned theme park. The scene was unearthly, surreal, I felt like I was in another world entirely. This place had lay derelict for years.

The weather was drab and bleak, which just made the atmosphere more unnerving. I felt like I was disrupting the theme park's peaceful sleep, and it would soon awaken.
Decaying cobwebs were strung between beams, neglected by the spiders. I could see fog hovering in the air above my head; only a glowing sphere of the moon was visible through the clouds. The moon hid behind it, trying and failing to break through.

Torn bunting was strung in the air above me, their colours now dull, flags fluttering slightly in the breeze.

An elaborate merry-go-round sat in the centre of the park, its once bright colours painted over with dust. I could hear the echoes of cheerful music that no longer played. I could see the theme park reassemble itself in my mind, all the vibrant colours coming back to life.


Tomorrow the promise of spring will blossom as flowers do, yet today the wind blows cold, the last serenade winter's song. Upon the grass there is snow, much like sprinkled sugar over cake. The frigid air has a way of keeping us in the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it is replaced. It's one of those days when normal clothes aren't enough, when they feel thinner than they are. Breaths rise in puffs, arms hug each body tightly and there is a briskness to movements that will melt with the snow. Come tomorrow faces will reflect the warmth of the sun in their smiles; today they show resilience and a will to prevail.


Long had Nate held his inner pain to be the fault of others, caused by others. Never once had he looked into the mirror of his own soul and asked what different choices he could make, not for his own sake, but for the sake of others. In each moment he made only choices for himself and surrendered to whatever fear came his way - as cowards do. Were he in war he'd be a traitor, crying, "What else could I have done?" Should his choice be a splinter in his own finger for all eternity or to burn the world, he would see it as no choice at all... "obviously" he would burn the world. That is why Grandmother always said the worst of traits is cowardice, for, over a lifetime, one born will all potential to be good and kind will be nothing but a source of rot in humanity.


Dusk comes to bring us moonlight, to the time of reflection upon the day passed and awaiting day to be renewed by the light of the sun. It is when the birds sing goodnight until the stars bid them to dream under-wing. Each hue deepens in noble solemnity, finding unity in the night.


The birdsong drifts as well as any summertime pollen. It comes as magical as any flute, as improvised as deep south jazz, and as soulful as love's kiss. In that moment I am present, feet still and heart open.


The birdsong drifts as well as any summertime pollen. It comes as magical as any flute, as improvised as deep south jazz, and as soulful as love's kiss. In that moment I am present, feet still and heart open.


The birdsong drifts as well as any summertime pollen. It comes as magical as any flute, as improvised as deep south jazz, and as soulful as love's kiss. In that moment I am present, feet still and heart open.


Through the percussion of the rain comes the birdsong, each a music to the other, together an opera only nature gives. The sweet melody is the heart of the bird, freely given. As our work is our love made visible, so this song is theirs, flowing into the air. There is something about it that brings deeper breath into my lungs, brings my own heart to a steady rhythm. In that moment I am so thankful with everything that I am for a sky full of birds and chance to be alive.


There is a playfulness in nature, in the skies, woodland and soil. The time of plenty is coming and the joy of coming abundance energizes the air. In rain or shine, there is a new warmth, inviting the lips to smile. The greenness of the grass is soon to be echoed by the trees, while the flowers promise their rainbow garland to our Earth.


The rain comes, oblivious to the life it gives. It washes the world, quenching soil and the life whom depend upon it. In either warmth or coldness, sunlight or moonlight, rain comes, humble to its role. In this almost-spring afternoon, it is the percussion to the birdsong and the bringer of brightness to every hue of bark and leaf.

missing someone

You've gone, and this time for so long. I still don't believe that this is the end. You know, it is so hard to see a person that you used to love go to another world. It is so hard for me to turn and not see you behind me, but it's destiny. I wish that you were here just to tell you things I couldn't tell you; tell you that I love you, tell you that I'll never forget you, tell you that I'll always see you in the stars at night, tell you that I miss you.


I like the upscale of the soul that respects itself... and the others...
when it speaks... it speaks in depth... requests politely...
jokes tastefully... apologizes sincerely... remember that your manner is the art in how to treat others. It equals your status, so the more your manners get elevated, the higher your ranking...
There're those who embarrass you with their "morals," hurt you with their "morals" ... and the difference is a point of great meaning.

messy hair

She looked at the mirror. If a cat had eaten her hair and puked it back out, then let it dry in the sun, it would look just the same; the tangle would take hours to brush out.


Abruptly, a chill rose up his spine making him shiver. Something was here with him and he could feel it. James whipped around. Sounds of hushed whispering seemed to be erupting and spilling from the peeling flower walls. Was he going crazy? This couldn’t be happening. "This isn’t real," he told himself. Yet it felt nothing but real and absolute to James.

A breath so hoarse and so faint echoed around him, coming from the south of the room. James slowly turned his head over his shoulder and the whispering stopped. The air chilled to ice and his laboured breathing became the only sound... it was hanging from the ceiling, crawling ever so slowly towards him, dark and brooding.
Creak. Crrk. Creak. Crrk. Crreakk.


The dark and shadowy corridor illuminated in light for a split second. The camera let out a small whirring sound. A small photo slid out. Harry anxiously retrieved the photo and fanned it out. Gulping as he stared at the photo of the barren corridor, dingy with only doors standing parallel to each other, he caught a glimpse of a murky shadow leaping from the wall that was approximately ten feet away. The shadow became an oozy black substance, tar-like and viscous. It moved over the Persian rug, leaving a trail that looked like burnt earth. Harry turned whiter than snow. He wanted to run. Instead, he forced his body to inch forward. What was it? The oozing tar seemed to be coming from one of the next-door apartments, Amora's.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Harry heard the knocks come in pairs of sixes, three times. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Um, hello?” He called out tentatively taking a step towards the end of the hallway. Taking the largest inhale he ever took in his life, he approached the door. He raised his fist to knock, but there was no answer. He tried again, but still, no one answered. A shaky sigh escaped his parted lips. He knew Amora was in there, she always was. “M-Miss, Ricardane?” No answer. Without warning, the black ooze rose, pulling at his feet. He stumbled backwards, falling in the process. Harry yanked and thrashed his legs, but it was no use. Whatever had harmed Amora was coming for him too.


There she is. Mine. Her beauty, her flaming locks - a painting for my eyes alone. Night is the only time I can be with my love, catching a whiff of her sweet and subtle scent, drowning me as she dreams. Some nights I calm the excitement in my soul to prevent waking my precious sleeping beauty. One day I won't be a mysterious guy loving her from the shadows, I will be her lover and she will be mine. I will be the one to marry her, make love to her, and she will bare my children. She will be mine to love, forever. Oh, how sweet that will be. Oh, dear me, I think I woke her. I guess our lives together are starting sooner than expected...


She froze. The outrage, the entitlement, the jurisdiction in his voice frightened her. She needed to leave. Escape. Her body lurched into the darkness before twisting to lock the door behind her. The pounding of his footsteps made her feel so helpless. Her body slid to the cold planks beneath her, racked in pain. Her bruised chest and stomach blended into the dark. Tears welled in her eyes, flowing against her wishes. Holding everything in had become second nature - but too many storms can burst any dam.
Her hands clamped tightly over her quivering mouth, as fists pounded on the other side of the door. If she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a prayer, maybe she would wake up. "Please, God, can I just wake up?"
"I know you're in there, baby. Open the door."
"Baby, please. I'm so sorry I hurt you,"
Her head perked up. He was sorry?
"but you disobeyed me and broke several of my rules. I told you never to speak in public without my permission and you did anyway, even if it was a slip-up. When that store clerked smirked at you and you smiled back, I knew there was something going on between you two behind my back so forgive me for being infuriated. Now, if you don't open this door on the count of three, I will knock it down and what happens to you after that..." He didn't dare finish the rest of that sentence. Her eyes widened and she sprung up and then darted to the window at the far side of the room.