Come to close?No one wants to come to close.If it's done for them,they accept it,even while they condemn it.Why not?But no one wants to know what it's like.Turn a blind eye.Maybe it will go away.
Jocko likes salty, Jocko likes sweet, but never bring Jocko any hot sauce, like with jalapenos, because it makes Jocko squirt funny-smelling stuff out his ears.
Fear is a part of life. It's a warning mechanism. That's all. It tells you when there's danger around. Its job is to help you survive. Not cripple you into being unable to do it.
You don’t pack what you need; you pack what you think you will probably need, taking into account each and every possibility, and then add some more stuff…just in case.
Rhiannon's Law #16: If it looks like a rabbit, and it hops like a rabbit, run the other way and fast. That shit is liable to tear you arm off.
Love's easy to learn. It's like taking a risk. You set your mind on it and refuse to be afraid, and in no time you feel terrifically exhilarated and all your inhibitions fly out of the window.
I'm a five-hundred-year-old born vampire with an ever-expanding wardrobe, a serious cosmetics addiction, and enough outstanding Visa charges to fund a small third-world country.
You're telling me a shape-shifting demon just walked out onto Fifth Avenue and blended in with the crowd?" I asked. "Hailed a fucking cab after tearing everyone to pieces down here?
While I had no intention of hooking up with him, I still wanted him to want to hook up with me. It was the principle of the thing, after all.
A year ago,' I said, 'you wouldn’t have asked this of me.' 'A year ago,' he answered, 'you wouldn’t have hesitated to drink.' I crossed to the desk and tossed it down.
Conchar is an ancient Gaelic term for those who admire the king of all hunters: the wolf. To some, the wolf is a magnificent beast, the pinnacle of predatory evolution. To others, the wolf is a thing of nightmare.
...we have to save the history we have. You never know what small bit of it might change your life--or change the whole world.
Once, I remember, Father Abbot said that our purpose is justice, and with God lies the privilege of mercy. But even God, when he intends mercy, needs tools to his hand.
We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion.
You stay safe, You love. You survive. You laugh and cry and struggle and sometimes you fail and sometimes you succeed. You Push.
Come on," I said, taking his hand. Clutching the afghan with the other hand, he trailed down the hall after me, a snow white giant in tiny red underwear.
I realize that life is risks. It’s acknowledging the past but looking forward. It’s taking a chance that we will make mistakes but believing that we all deserve to be forgiven.
I wish," I said. "I could save orgasms in a jar for when I need them, because I think I have a few extra.
Join us next time for Days of the Undead when Rachel learns her long lost brother is really a crown prince from outer space.
When good Americans die, they go to Paris,' the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette. But you’re not dead. I suppose the question must be, are you good?
The past is a distraction, a source of envy, enmity, bitterness. Only the present matters, for only in the present can we shape the future. Cut loose the past; it is dead weight. Let the Extirpation continue. Let it never end.
