No, it’s not a type of drug, albeit that would be a pretty cool thing to name one.

Morpheme, infact, is another way to say word.

[technically, it means the smallest meaningful unit in the grammar of a language, but same thing]


Today, I want to talk about words.


I’ve always had a sort of fascination with words, and how if you put the right ones together they could create a beatific melody and everything just falls into place.


It’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a writer. Another one was because I didn’t want to go to waste. I’ve always had a sneaky fear of leaving this world without doing anything productive. And being a fanatic reader, lover of stories, and having a head full of turbulent ideas, I guess it just happened.


But back to words.


They are so eloquent and persuasive. Sometimes, I admit, words can be worthless, ruthless, or dismissing, but most of the time they are crucial. Not just for living things to communicate the basic needs and wants of one another, but to let people express their emotions, thoughts, and ideas.


I’ve been recently thinking about the most important word in the universe. I first thought it must be the word used the most, but that would probably be I and that’s too selfish, or it might be and, but that’s too trivial. And then I realized that maybe the words used more often are the most meaningless exactly because they have been said so much, in all manners, in all contexts, and of no real essence.

So I think that the quintessential word of all, the one that matters most, is the one that encompasses the thing or things that are so mind-blowingly incomprehensible that words cannot express them.


I know that basically means that words only describe the basic, comprehendible parts of being, but that makes the words that don’t exist, that we’ll never hear spoken from someone’s lips, so much more precious.


And I know now I must be rambling, so on to what I originally meant this blog post for:

The beauty of using words to express ourselves.


Weird how writers find their biggest passion in that, but as one, I completely understand. I imagine to non-writers it might be like how I feel about track & field.

I don’t get how other people could possible devote their whole lives to doing it, yet I know to them it must be freeing of the soul.


And I’ll never understand why someone might absolutely despise reading, when that’s all I can do, but then again they want to become video game programmers, something I despise, so what am I being a hypocrite for?

I know listing here the words I look up to would be too tedious, so I won’t even try.


Another thing I really enjoy is making words up when you can’t express yourself clearly, or if you don’t like the words presented to you on your tongue. This is where artistic freedom really comes in handy. I’ve described crowds as braily or a sound as a whisp all the while fully knowing that those words did not exist in an English dictionary.


And I really do hope that I’m not the only one who appreciates words and their utter prowess when it comes to captivating us.


the sorrows of young werther review.

The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johanne Wolfgang von Goethe


Although the title of this book might seem like the story is just Werther complaining on and on about his life, that’s far from it. In fact, Werther seems to see the beauty in everything—even in suicide—without much filter to his thoughts. The book is really short, and mostly comprised of Werther’s letters to his friend, Wilhelm.

It’s basically about Werther moving to a new town to finish his law degree and falling in love with the town’s judge’s daughter—who just so happens to be engaged. One of the reasons I wanted to read this book was because I saw the movie of the author’s, Goethe’s young years, which is what the book is mainly inspired from.



One of the big differences between Goethe’s and Werther’s story is that Werther ended up committing suicide, while Goethe became famous for his sorrowful book instead.


The book was especially popular and relatable at the time because most young men and women were forced into marriages where they didn’t necessarily, love, like, or even know the significant other. So, naturally, lots of people couldn’t marry the ones they loved and the book hit a really soft spot for many. Instantly, it was a sensation.

Even though it was only 88 pages long, it took me a while to get through it. There were times I couldn’t stop reading and times I had to force myself to open the page, but over all, I found the writing the most precious part of the story.


Some honorary extracts:

“If you inquire what the people are like here, I must answer, ‘the same as everywhere’. The human race is but a monotonous affair. Most people spend the greatest part of their time working in order to live, and what little freedom remains so fills them with fear that they seek out any and every means to be rid of it.”


“No one is willing to believe that adults too, like children, wander about this earth in a daze and, like children, do not know where they come from or where they are going, act as rarely as they do according to genuine motives, and are as thoroughly governed as they are by biscuits and cake and the rod.”


“I am proud of my heart alone, it is the sole source of everything, all our strength, happiness and misery. All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own.”


“I examine my own being, and find there a world, but a world rather of imagination and dim desires, than of distinctness and living power. Then everything swims before my senses, and I smile and dream while pursuing my way through the world.”


“How many kings are governed by their ministers, how many ministers by their secretaries? Who, in such cases, is really the chief?”


“Does not man lack the force at the very point where he needs it most? And when he soars upward in joy, or sinks down in suffering, is not checked in both, is he not returned again to the dull, cold sphere of awareness, just when he was longing to lose himself in the fullness of the infinite?”

the gold coffin review.

Last Thursday I finished The Gold Coffin by Ferenc Mora. [when I say last Thursday, I really mean over a month ago, I was just too lazy to finish this review. Exams were just way too overwhelming, and so I turned towards binge-watching Sherlock and I got side-tracked, sorry!]


[this is not the prettiest cover I found, but since it’s a Hungarian novel, it was the only English version.]

I’m not gonna lie, this book took me a while to finish. It was 425 pages long, add to that my final exam stress and the fact that I read it in old Hungarian, I think I deserve an award.

Yes, you heard me right. I read the book in its original Hungarian version.


^^^ that’s how I felt when I realized what I was bound for ^^^

I don’t think I have mentioned it on here before, but I am Hungarian.

I speak Hungarian; I mostly grew up there, my whole family is from there. That wasn’t the problem.

Despite all that though, this book was the first serious book I’ve ever read in Hungarian. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for something like that but I managed to pull through.

Anyway, let’s get into it.

On the story:

Basically, the book is set in the Roman Empire, under the rule of Diocletianus. Since the book is written in third person, there is no official main character, but I think it’s safe to say that the story was mainly surrounding Quintipor, a slave to the emperor.

One of the reasons the book has such an impact towards the reader, I think, is because it’s written in third person. It allows the reader to know everything, while only certain characters know one or two parts of the truth at best. This was dramatic irony at its best.

Now, an important thing you have to know about this story is how the empire was structured at the time.

Because it was way too big for only one person to hold autonomous power over it, Diocletianus the emperor chose another person to half it with. This was Maximianus. Soon, they realized even that wasn’t enough. Diocletianus chose one more person to half his share with, and Maximianus chose one too.

Diocletianus was still the sole emperor, except he was leaving some people in charge of parts of the empire he couldn’t reach.


The story starts when Quintipor gets offered a higher position as a slave, now the official assistant-slave of the emperor.

Long story short, Quintipor falls in love with one of the vice-emperors’ daughter, Titanilla, and she vice versa. Obviously, A girl the equivalent of a princess and a slave can’t really be an “item,” so they need to keep it a secret.

Here’s the catch:

What only the emperor and a close friend knows is that Quintipor is actually the emperor’s son, his heir.

The emperor had given his son secretly away to be a slave when Quintipor was way too small to remember, to save his life.

Now that Quintipor was eighteen, the emperor was slowly trying to free him as a slave, and then eventually make him the next emperor.

With us, the readers, knowing all these added up to a lot of anxious and hilarious scenes in the book.

For example, while the two lovers are trying to hide that they even notice each other, the emperor is also trying to see if Quintipor has a liking for anyone, in case they could be his empress later on.

As great a scenes these situations can make, the story also has a sad and deep lining woven through it.

I think Ferenc Mora’s writing is one of the best I’ve ever seen, although sometimes bound to veer off into another direction, his emotion-evoking description and poignant humor make it a wonder to read.

Another thing I will mention is the Christians. Since this is set in the time of Roman rule, there is a lot of hate, prejudice, and massacres of Christians.

At the same time, though, it is also the period in history when Christianity was just on the brink of tipping over the scale of Roman gods.

It’s the ripening of a new religion, a new age, the tragedy of fate undone, star-crossed lovers, mistakes, mishaps, and miscommunication.

There’s so much humanity in the novel. It shows the imperfections of human individuals, and what happens when they join a group.

All in all, the book is fangirl worthy:


One scene of honorable mention is when Titanilla is sick and she asks her father, one of the vice-emperors, if she has a soul. Her father only laughs and says, “what a foolish thought to have! Of course you don’t have a soul. Souls are only able to be kept in sturdy, brave chests like mine, not women’s.”

Later, still not satisfied, Titanilla asks the empress, (aka Quintipor’s mother, although Titanilla doesn’t know that), if she has a soul.

And the empress, who has gone through sixteen years of pure, unfiltered anguish, says:

“If it hurts, little Tit, then yes.”

And Titanilla smiles and replies, “Good then, I have a soul.”

[since I don’t have the English version, this might not be the word-for-word translation of the scene, but you get the gist.]

Overall, I’m just so happy that the first two books I’ve read in this challenge have been so amazing. [also both based on mythology, lol.]

Another thing I wanna point out is the characters. Mora had such an incredible way of showing what characters had as strengths, and what their weaknesses were. He wasn’t afraid to show in characters who would normally be either the ultimate villain or the hero in the story, all sides of their souls.

I think that’s a leap not a lot of authors are willing to take.

The main character, Quintipor, is also not the typical male main character.

He is incredibly shy, obedient, passionate, sensitive, devoted, and dreamy.

The funny thing about the two, Quintipor and Titanilla, is that most of the time neither of them treated the other as a princess or a slave.

Sometimes, Titanilla would even call Quintipor the emperor, or a god.

When they did treat eachother as their ranks, however, it would only be when they were either angry at eachother or trying to irritate the other.

I feel like I’m gushing a lot about this book, but I can’t help it.


Just wait until you see my review on the next book, which I’ve started already, called The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.


I’ve only gotten twenty pages of the book left, and I feel myself already changing. Is that even possible?

Also, the movie of the young writer, Goethe, is just so adorable: