Novel of the month

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Where to start? I love this book so much. It's long. Really long. And the thing is, that makes it even better, because the story is so consuming you just never want it to end and it almost seems as though it's going to go on forever. The characters are amazingly developed - you really feel as though you know these people, that you, too, are in this story. It arouses an emotional response i seldom experience when reading a book, you empathize with the characters, rejoice in their successes, share their grievances, each new desperate layer they reveal of themselves affects you personally. You find yourself feeling resentful and betrayed by their shortcomings. 

An enthralling story, i beg you to read it. The last few weeks have been lonely ones for me, but in this book i found friends in Richard, Francis, Henry, Charles, Camilla and even Bunny. 

I hope you love it as much as i do. 

Je ne regrette rien

It's 2011, and my year is already looking up. I have one of those good feelings and a new attitude. Trouble had already started mere moments after the New Years countdown, but it was one of those experiences you just have to take and use it to move on and learn. I feel like 2011 is not only a new year but a new chapter in my life, and i have finished an old one and burned the book.
 Sorry to be cryptic, but i don't want to burden anyone with the intricacies of my life, i save that for poor Benny and Raya! Haha. 
I hope you all start 2011 with a bigger and better view on life, an unstoppable attitude and no regrets.
Heavy hearts are so 2010.
Love, 
Aoife. 

Fuck poetry let's party

Hello my ducklings.
Snow snow snow. All snow and no school makes Aoife happy.
Last week i went to the Kat Von D book signing and i met her and gave her a hug and she signed my Beethoven tape and said it was soo rad and that she was going to copy it and then i died. Great day.
So anyways, life is sweet at the moment.
I think my boobs are getting bigger. This is bad.

Also, this. This is bad.

I feel infinite

You are neither here nor there

A thousand splendid suns

Her hands cupping his elbows. The upside-down, mandolin shaped birthmark beneath his collar bone, glowing red. His face hovering over hers. His black curls dangling, tickling her lips, her chin. The terror that they would be discovered. The disbelief at their own boldness, their courage. The strange and indescribable pleasure interlaced with pain. And the look, the myriad of looks, on Tariq: of apprehension, tenderness, apology, embarrassment, but mostly, mostly of hunger.

A thousand splendid suns, Khaled Hosseini.