Been readin' me some Paradise Lost. And finally got around to reading Cassandra Clare's City of Glass, which has been sitting on my shelf for approximately half a year. And you know what? I don't buy that angels-sitting-on-fluffy-white-clouds-playing-serene-harp-music crap. Nuh uh. Uh, hello? They're like God's army. Hosts of heaven and flaming swords and all that. They're supposed to be scary. "Haha, Lucifer, my hoards of lovely women dressed in white will sing you to death!" Um, no. Just no. They're that good kind of frightening. The kind of frightening that makes your jaw drop in awe, but also makes you think you don't ever, ever want to piss them off.
More beautiful and terrible than the dawn. But I digress, that's Tolkien, not Milton.
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