brás cubas is the personification of mansplain manipulate manwhore

 He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. “I know myself,” he cried, “but that is all--” 

• it is incredibly fascinating how relevant this story is today (especially for teenagers. teenagers literally have not changed in a century and that is kind of hilarious). much of the worries and reflections Amory & company had are things we all think about daily - the shitty world, wanting to become a socialist and change said shitty world, thinking we are all so smart and great when in reality we are just hiding behind social labels to conceal the emptiness inside us... Amory WAS the sadboy of the roaring twenties.

  • he was a slave to his own moods and he felt that though he was capable of recklessness and audacity, he possessed neither courage, perseverance, nor self-respect.
    
    With a dread of being alone he attached a few friends, but since they were not among the elite of the school, he used them simply as mirrors of himself, audiences before which he might do that posing absolutely essential to him. He was unbearably lonely, desperately unhappy.
    
    Gets to college and has a problematical future. Feels lost without his circle, and always says that school days were happiest, after all. Goes back to school and makes speeches about what St. Regis’s boys are doing.
    
    [he] sat in the train, and thought about himself for thirty-six hours.
    
    “All I’d like would be a little home in the country, some warm country, and a wife, and just enough to do to keep from rotting."
    
    He found it impossible to study conic sections; something in their calm and tantalizing respectability breathing defiantly through Mr. Rooney’s fetid parlors distorted their equations into insoluble anagrams.
    
    “Just to be dramatic, I’ll let you know that if it’s blue, my name is withdrawn from the editorial board of the Prince, and my short career is over.”
    
    “I’ve lost half my personality in a year.”
    
     Amory’s envy and admiration of this step was drowned in an experience of his own to which he never succeeded in giving an appropriate value, but which, nevertheless, haunted him for three years afterward.
    
     “I want some one stupid. Oh, send some one stupid!” This to the black fence opposite him, in whose shadows the footsteps shuffled... shuffled. He supposed “stupid” and “good” had become somehow intermingled through previous association.
    
    gayly from the train, but on the platform
    
     “Burne, I think they’re the ugliest-looking crowd I ever came across. They look like an old man’s home.”
    
     “You’re really humble at heart. You sink to the third hell of depression when you think you’ve been slighted. In fact, you haven’t much self-respect.”
    
     “There you go—running through your catalogue of emotions in five seconds.”
    
     American life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy.
    
     Honestly, Alec, she treats men terribly. She abuses them and cuts them and breaks dates with them and yawns in their faces—and they come back for more. 
    
    ROSALIND: (Sadly) Oh, nothing—only I want sentiment, real sentiment—and I never find it.
    AMORY: I never find anything else in the world—and I loathe it.
    ROSALIND: It’s so hard to find a male to gratify one’s artistic taste.
    
     “She’s life and hope and happiness, my whole world now.”
    
     (Between a laugh and a sob) Thanks.
    
     “It’s ghastly!” “And I wish American novelists would give up trying to make business romantically interesting. Nobody wants to read about it, unless it’s crooked business.
    
    For months it seemed that he had alternated between being borne along a stream of love or fascination, or left in an eddy, and in the eddies he had not desired to think, rather to be picked up on a wave’s top and swept along again.
    
     “I detest poor people,” thought Amory suddenly. “I hate them for being poor."
    
    Q.—Are you corrupt?
    A.—I think so. I’m not sure. I’m not sure about good and evil at all any more."
    
     “When life gets hold of a brainy man of fair education,” began Amory slowly, “that is, when he marries he becomes, nine times out of ten, a conservative as far as existing social conditions are concerned.
    
     “Modern life,” began Amory again, “changes no longer century by century, but year by year, ten times faster than it ever has berbre—populations doubling, civilizations unified more closely with other civilizations, economic interdependence, racial questions, and—we’re dawdling along."
    
     "They don’t think uneducated people should be highly paid, but they won’t see that if they don’t pay the uneducated people their children are going to be uneducated too, and we’re going round and round in a circle. That—is the great middle class!” 

• the writing!!! is!! so!! pretty!!!!!!!! the immaculate vibes man

  • From the first he loved Princeton—its lazy beauty, its half-grasped significance, the wild moonlight revel of the rushes, the handsome, prosperous big-game crowds, and under it all the air of struggle that pervaded his class.
    
    The cool bathed his eyes and slowed the flight of time—time that had crept so insidiously through the lazy April afternoons, seemed so intangible in the long spring twilights.
    
    under moonlight and pale starlight, and in the backs of warm limousines and in low, cosy roadsters stopped under sheltering trees—only the boy might change, and this one was so nice.
    
    As in the story-books, she ran into them, and on that half-minute, as their lips first touched, rested the high point of vanity, the crest of his young egotism.
    
    You are unsentimental, almost incapable of affection, astute without being cunning and vain without being proud.
    
    at fifteen you had the radiance of early morning, at twenty you will begin to have the melancholy brilliance of the moon, and when you are my age you will give out, as I do, the genial golden warmth of 4 P.M.
    
     “You know,” whispered Tom, “what we feel now is the sense of all the gorgeous youth that has rioted through here in two hundred years.”
    
     “And what we leave here is more than this class; it’s the whole heritage of youth. We’re just one generation—we’re breaking all the links that seemed to bind us here to top-booted and high-stocked generations. We’ve walked arm and arm with Burr and Light-Horse Harry Lee through half these deep-blue nights.”
    
    No more to wait the twilight of the moon in this sequestered vale of star and spire, for one eternal morning of desire passes to time and earthy afternoon. Here, Heraclitus, did you find in fire and shifting things the prophecy you hurled down the dead years; this midnight my desire will see, shadowed among the embers, furled in flame, the splendor and the sadness of the world.
    
    I find the only answer to this bitter age—all the world tumbled about our ears, and the closest parallel ages back in that hopeless resignation.
    
     Because selfish people are in a way terribly capable of great loves.
    
    She had taken the first flush of his youth and brought from his unplumbed depths tenderness that had surprised him, gentleness and unselfishness that he had never given to another creature.
    
    Was it the infinite sadness of her eyes that drew him or the mirror of himself that he found in the gorgeous clarity of her mind?
    
     “Are you very cold?” asked Amory. “No, I’m thinking about myself—my black old inside self, the real one, with the fundamental honesty that keeps me from being absolutely wicked by making me realize my own sins.”
    
    But as Amory had loved himself in Eleanor, so now what he hated was only a mirror.
    
    The stars were long gone and there were left only the little sighing gusts of wind and the silences between ... but naked souls are poor things ever, and soon he turned homeward and let new lights come in with the sun.
    
    Sacrifice by its very nature was arrogant and impersonal; sacrifice should be eternally supercilious.
    
     I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.
    
     Amory had grown up to a thousand books, a thousand lies; he had listened eagerly to people who pretended to know, who knew nothing.
    
     Women—of whom he had expected so much; whose beauty he had hoped to transmute into modes of art; whose unfathomable instincts, marvellously incoherent and inarticulate, he had thought to perpetuate in terms of experience—had become merely consecrations to their own posterity. Isabelle, Clara, Rosalind, Eleanor, were all removed by their very beauty, around which men had swarmed, from the possibility of contributing anything but a sick heart and a page of puzzled words to write.
    
    In self-reproach and loneliness and disillusion he came to the entrance of the labyrinth. Another dawn flung itself across the river; a belated taxi hurried along the street, its lamps still shining like burning eyes in a face white from a night’s carouse. A melancholy siren sounded far down the river.
    
    My whole generation is restless.
    
    Weak things were often beautiful, weak things were never good. And in this new loneness of his that had been selected for what greatness he might achieve, beauty must be relative or, itself a harmony, it would make only a discord.  
    
    He wondered that graves ever made people consider life in vain. Somehow he could find nothing hopeless in having lived. All the broken columns and clasped hands and doves and angels meant romances. He fancied that in a hundred years he would like having young people speculate as to whether his eyes were brown or blue, and he hoped quite passionately that his grave would have about it an air of many, many years ago. It seemed strange that out of a row of Union soldiers two or three made him think of dead loves and dead lovers, when they were exactly like the rest, even to the yellowish moss. 

• the women in this book,,,, oh my god... (also. Amory was totally the type of guy who said "you're not like other girls" to every single woman he ever came across, YA love interests yall lose!)

  •  In her eyes was the light of the idealist, the inviolate dreamer of Joan-like dreams.
    
     “Yes, I do,” she interrupted. “I do, because you’re always talking about yourself and I used to like it; now I don’t.”
    
    Her goodness was above the prosy morals of the husband-seeker, apart from the dull literature of female virtue.
    
    “I think,” he said and his voice trembled, “that if I lost faith in you I’d lose faith in God.” She looked at him with such a startled face that he asked her the matter. “Nothing,” she said slowly, “only this: five men have said that to me before, and it frightens me.”
    
     ROSALIND is—utterly ROSALIND. She is one of those girls who need never make the slightest effort to have men fall in love with them. Two types of men seldom do: dull men are usually afraid of her cleverness and intellectual men are usually afraid of her beauty. All others are hers by natural prerogative.
    
    ROSALIND had been disappointed in man after man as individuals, but she had great faith in man as a sex.
    
    The unfortunate part is that the only men who interest me at all are the totally ineligible ones.
    
     GILLESPIE: And you haven’t kissed me for two weeks. I had an idea that after a girl was kissed she was—was—won.
    ROSALIND: Those days are over. I have to be won all over again every time you see me.
    
    ROSALIND: No—no—I’m taking the hardest course, the strongest course. Marrying you would be a failure and I never fail—if you don’t stop walking up and down I’ll scream!
    
    ROSALIND: (...) Oh, don’t ask me. You know I’m old in some ways—in others—well, I’m just a little girl. I like sunshine and pretty things and cheerfulness—and I dread responsibility. I don’t want to think about pots and kitchens and brooms. I want to worry whether my legs will get slick and brown when I swim in the summer.
    AMORY: And you love me.
    ROSALIND: That’s just why it has to end. Drifting hurts too much.
    
    “And me,” Amory interrupted, “where did you see me?” “Oh, you’re one of those men,” she answered haughtily, “must lug old self into conversation."
    
     “We’re just voices now,” murmured Eleanor, “little lonesome voices. Light another.”
    
     “Rotten, rotten old world,” broke out Eleanor suddenly, “and the wretchedest thing of all is me—oh, why am I a girl? Why am I not a stupid—? Look at you; you’re stupider than I am, not much, but some, and you can lope about and get bored and then lope somewhere else, and you can play around with girls without being involved in meshes of sentiment, and you can do anything and be justified—and here am I with the brains to do everything, yet tied to the sinking ship of future matrimony.
    
    Who? I’m too bright for most men, and yet I have to descend to their level and let them patronize my intellect in order to get their attention. 

 To read This Side of Paradise once is to read it twice and quote it endlessly. 

 

VEM DE CHICOTE, ALGEMA, CORDA DE ALPINISTA
DAI QUE EU PERCEBI QUE O CARA É SADOMASOQUISTA

 

 「シン、生きてる？ っていうか今、何考えてる？」 - theo eu te amo eu te amo

 「知るか」「……大きかった？」「っ……」 血赤の双眸が睨みつけたのは一瞬。 次の瞬間、逃げ損ねたセオの頭を、後ろ頭をひっ摑かんだ手が思い切り水面に叩たきつけた。 

 「ほら、レーナはそっち。くっそー大きいわね何食べたらそんなになるの？」 i still cant believe i read girsl comparing boob sizes in a public bathouse during world history class

 「ダスティン……は、いいや、聞くまでもねえし。ノウゼン的にはどうなんだその辺。この際聞いてみてえんだけど」 - Dustin KKKKKKKKKKKKK

 「アネット、ねえ。……シンはわたしのこと、どう思ってるんだと思う……？」 アネットは黙った。 とてもとても長い時間、黙りこんでいた。 その果てにつくづくと、内圧を下げるようなため息を吐いた。「……レーナ」「う」「あんたがド天然なのはよーくわかってるけど。さすがに一発ひっぱたかせてくれない？」 - anette and theo are us

  その感情を意識してしまうとさすがのシンでも気恥ずかしくて、きつく目を閉じて叩たたくように枕に頭を預けた。 -  feelings realization hits different

 「何っていうかよ」 つくづくと、腹の底からため息をついて、ライデンは言った。「お前ほんと、変わったよな」 - Raiden, Frederica, Vika, Anette and Theo are the real mvps tbh

 「……つーわけで、シンの奴はさすがに、覚悟決めたみたいだぜ」 - finally

 「あんなにバレバレなのに、本人が覚悟っていうか自覚してなかったってむしろすごいよね」「よく知らない俺でも、わかるくらいのわかりやすさだったからな。二人とも」 - they are all so tired of their shit it was v funny

 「特にレーナのことは、ハンドラー・ワンって呼んでたのが名前で呼ぶようになって、先に行くとか海を見せたいとかいろいろ預けて、まさか東部戦線の首のない死神がよ。……ああそう」 にやっと笑ってライデンは続ける。「尋問だので逃げてねえで、そろそろ言えよお前」「……うるさい」「なんなら、盛り上がるシチュエーションとか、多少は協力してやるぜ。なんか、いい感じの景色とか薄暗いとことか。……あーでも、最終日が一番かな」「うるさいな。……この前は、言おうとしたけどマルセルが」 - raiden being a true bro + cute shin!

 「女王陛下女王陛下ァ。当日はさ、思いきってこんなんどうよ。エッロくねえ？」 - SHIDEN.

 「女王陛下どうせ、死神ちゃんにエスコートしてもらうんだろ。だったら見えねえとこまできっちりお洒落しやれしとこうぜ。……つーか」  「もしかしたら見せることになるかもしれねえんだしな！ そんときゃ同じ部屋のアネットは、あたしが責任もってバーで一晩足止めしとくから。だから安心して──…… - MANOKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

 「言ったでしょう。話したくなったらいつでも聞くと。……だいたいみんな気づいてますよ。たった一人しかいない、おれたちの女王陛下の不調には」 - ajdkskdaskdjskljwf

  ああ。 やっぱり自分は、この人のことが。 

 「シンに……その、すきだって、言う」 

 「そう！ よく肚はら括くくったわがんばって！」- sim parabens 

 「あんだけ時間あったのに、結局レーナからかよ。あのバカほんとあのバカな」 - THIS WAS SO FUNNY TO READ 

 石鹼の匂いがする。 

 「……というか。レーナはともかくノウゼンには、俺は怒られる筋合いはない気がするんだが……」「連合王国で、遭難した時のこと？」 あの時はいい雰囲気だったところを、ダスティンがシンに邪魔された。しかもダスティンとは違ってあからさまに故意に。 

 「なあ」「なんだよ」 - 'hey' 'what' 

ライデンは欠片かけらもドキドキしなかった。- queer raiden and shiden confirmed pls?

  自然な、まるで当然の理のように。-  i just love the sound of the word "kotowari" sm

  やっぱり自分は、シンがすきだ。 - SIM PARABENS

 「心配すんな。今日のあんた、奇跡みたいに綺麗だよ」 - shiden!!!!! 

 見つめ合ったまま、心を奪われてしまったようにともに立ちつくしていたのは、どれくらいの時間だったろう。 - 心臓に悪い。casal feliz

 見たら最後、動けなくなってしまう気がして見られない。- casal feliz pt 2

  「……今日は本当は、あなた以外の誰かといたくはありませんでしたから」「え、」 - daqui pra frente é so sucesso

  助けられてきた。何度も、救われてきた。 それはきっと、そうとは気づかぬうちにさえ。 視線を下ろし、向き直った。何も言葉にはしていないのに惹ひかれるように見返してきた、白銀の瞳と目が合う。 焦がれるように、呼びかけた。「──レーナ」 - COMEÇOU

 「おれは──貴女あなたに会えて、よかったです」 

 「貴女がいなかったらきっと二年前、第一戦区で兄さんを討って、戦い抜いたつもりで死んでいた。電磁加速砲型モルフォを倒して、それで戦う理由を見失っていた。竜りゆう牙が大たい山ざんの溶岩湖で、帰らなければと思えなかった。いつも貴女あなたに救われてきた」 

 「貴女がいてくれたから──生きていていいと、思えるようになった」 

 「貴女が好きです」

 「おれは貴女あなたに、海を見せたい。……貴女あなたと共に、海を見たい。見たことのないものを。戦争に鎖とざされたままでは見られないものを。同じ景色を、貴女あなたと見たい」 それは。 つまり。「あなたの傍そばにいたい。共に生きたい。できるなら──いつまでも」 - oh meu deus que fofo

  戦う女の子の正義がパイロットスーツなら、戦う男の子の正義は軍服だと思います。何がいいって恰かつ好こういい。そしてエロい。かっちり筋肉にブレザーの勤務服とか。かっちり筋肉に戦闘服とか - asato supremacy this woman is amazing

 I canflyから始まるみなさまお待ちかねのあのシーン、今でもけっこう長いですが実は初稿だと四〇ページ分ありました。みんなが悪ふざけしてたらゴリゴリ長くなりまして……。 

 そんなわけで、戦闘なしの全編ライト回でした。大丈夫かなコレ。すごい心配。 - no this was amazing pls dont kill every single character in the next volume thanks

•  
  mikey dying in takemitchy's arms
   
•  
  mitsuya and draken soul dragons,,,,
•  
  mikey "lmao your name sounds like a gaijin's"
   
•  
  chifuyu and takemitchy being dumb (just them actually)
•  
  takemitchy's middle school friends !!!!!
   
•  
  "my hero..............." ????????????
   

I ran out of ideas of what to write so here's the usual quote spam (spoilers in japanese!)

 「なるほど自覚してないのか。気の毒なことにな。……いやむしろ、迷惑なことだなというところかこれは。二人揃そろって、まったく」 - Vika, Raiden (!!!!) and Shiden are us

 「……よく似合っているが、何か不満か？ ああ、ノウゼンがこの場にいないのが嫌なのか。なら今すぐ呼んで──…… 」「そうではなく！ ていうかシ、シンは関係ないでしょう！ じゃなくて、軍の、会議に、どうして軍服ではなくドレスなんですか！」 - Vika JDSKSJDKSJ

「多分？ 捻 った 時 は、 後 から 痛 みが 来ることもありますが…… 不安なようなら、 このまま宿舎まで運 びますよ」 「い、 いえ！それは 大丈夫 です。…… シン、 あの、 もう 立 てますから」 - seriously this is like taken directly from a fanfic

微笑えみに言葉を失う。
 傍にいたい。ようやく望めた戦う理由を、手放したくない。 - slowly realizing feelings . 

 「貴女あなたに海を見せたい。見たことのない景色を。戦争が終わらなければ、見られない景色を。だから、戦争が終わったら。この戦争を生き延びられたら──海を、見にいきましょう」 - i was reading this [basically] love confession and the guy next to me started talking abt his problems so it was Hard not to kindly ask him to shut up

それでもせめて。 
レーナ が 笑 ってくれるような、 生き方をしたい。
 叶うならば 共 に、笑 いあって。- asjdksjksdksjflkdjfjdkfjj

シン、 君 は 仮 にも 主人公 なんだからもういい 加減 にしよう？ ね？（ キャラクター に 圧力 をかける 作者）- KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK 

噓うそじゃないですよほんとだよ！ - i really hope so miss