Oceanic farness treasures tomorrowMingled tears lost in the sea of sorrowOur immortal love will lead us a way When pale days remain cloudy and grey

Frightfully pale and perpetually odd

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

To love at a distance and without hope; never to possess; to dream chastely of pale charms and impossible kisses extinguished on the waxen brow of death: ah, that is something like it. A delicious straying away from the world, and never the return. As only the unreal is not ignoble and empty, existence must be admitted to be abominable. Yes, imagination is the only good thing which heaven vouchsafes to the skeptic and pessimist, alarmed by the eternal abjectness of life.

Tthe thing is, Dr. Foster…the truth is, I like Marina.” He eyed the doctor. “And I actually don’t like you very much.”Oh, it was worth it. God, it was worth it. To see the perennially calm face turn pale, only slightly, but still pale; to see him blink away the hurt in his watery, pallid blue eyes.

You don’t need a sad soul to feel the beauty of a dead graveJust stay with the pale moonwhen darkness wants the night to be brave

He looked like some plant bleached by darkness.

Sometimes all you need in your life is anything strange because strange things can revive your soul just like a cold water freshening your pale face with every splash!

They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.

Oh deep winter snow, pale executioner, thou who delights in a slow, torturous death.

It was one of those things they keep in a jar in the tent of a sideshow on the outskirts of a little, drowsy town. One of those pale things drifting in alcohol plasma, forever dreaming and circling, with its peeled, dead eyes staring out at you and never seeing you. It went with the noiselessness of late night, and only the crickets chirping, the frogs sobbing off in the moist swampland. One of those things in a big jar that makes your stomach jump as it does when you see a preserved arm in a laboratory vat.