Mowgli: Gee, cousin Louie, you're doing real good. King Louie: Now here's your part of the deal, cuz. Lay the secret on me of Man's Red Fire. Mowgli: But I don't know how to make fire. King Louie: [singing] Now don't try to kid me, Man Cub / I made a...
Tony Stark: [recording a log as he tests his rocket boots] Day 11, Test 37, Configuration 2.0. For lack of a better option, Dummy is still on fire safety. [turns to robot] Tony Stark: If you douse me again, and I'm not on fire, I'm donating you to a ...
Fuck I hate fucks Who think they’re so fucking great They know everything about fucking, When they’re just fucking fucks fucking! And no one changes the fucking world When they keep fucking to another fuck’s fuck.
We think the fire eats the wood. We are wrong. The wood reaches out to the flame. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy, the manner in which we and the world meet each new day.
There was no single gay point of view. Like skin color or gender or any of those arbitrary, sometimes artificial, difference sexual orientation didn't make us all the same. But it did affect us. It had to.
It all suddenly seemed like a hopeless fight, but so what? I told myself. What does it cost you to pretend that the can change (for the better)? That history is an arc and it bends toward justice, even if it is long?
Life (like love) is forgiving and hopeful and, like a bold flower pushing out from the narrow crevice in a rock, will take any gap we allow. However small or large.
It still feels weird to spend money on Christmas trees. Back when Mom was alive, we’d go out “tree hunting.” That’s what she called it, anyway. I think other people might use the word “trespassing.
I’ve fallen for the one person I shouldn’t have. For the boy who broke Mary’s heart. For Rennie’s one true love. For Alex’s best friend. It has to end here. Now.
If we are quiet enough, we can hear it: the space between us filling up fast with all the things we are too afraid to say to each other.
My entire life, I've been fascinated with stories. To everyone else, it seemed like the story itself was enough. But I wanted to know why someone told the story in the first place. Had something happened? Or were they only wishing for something to ha...
Honor from death,” I snap, “is a myth. Invented by the war torn to make sense of the horrific. If we die, it will be so that others may live. Truly honorable death, the only honorable death, is one that enables life.
The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so sure of themselves and wiser people so full of doubt.
Taking a break. Been working solid for the last few hours, as opposed to working liquid, which is more drinkable. Can I pour you a glass of productivity?
I’m making naked, and I’m making it by hand and other body parts. Next I’ll be making spaghetti, if my first cooking show hasn’t been canceled by then.
Peanut butter and jelly is like the older, more serious brother to egg salad sandwich. I’m an only child, so I eat both with incredible sadness.
In middle school, I got picked on a lot. But boy, it sure felt good to get picked, because who doesn’t like to get chosen and called out as special?
I wish I had a body like fog or mist, and could move mysteriously. But genetics being what they are, I’m stuck with a body like haze.
Knocking on a door is so violent. Instead, try talking to the door to get it to open up to you. I should write a self-help book for door-to-door salesmen.
A circular table that spins around is a great way to make a romantic dinner for two with three people less awkward. I’ll pay for myself, I promise.
I’m 33, and an 18-year-old girl called me old. I said, “You may be temporarily young, but you’ll forever be childish.” Then I put gum in her hair.
