It wouldn't have mattered if they were scratches or not," he says, his voice like liquid. "I was bitten during the escape from the house." My limbs go weak, everything inside me folding in collapsing on itself. "I was already dead," he says, opening ...
Who are we if not the stories we pass down? What happens when there's no one left to tell those stories? To hear them? Who will ever know that I existed? What if we are the only ones left -- who will know our stories then? Who will remember those?
But I also believe there is enormous value in the piece of writing that goes no further than the one person for whom it was intended, that no combination of written words is more eloquent than those exchanged in letters between lovers or friends, or ...
I want to sprint into her open arms, but I run as fast as two shoes tied together and thrown over a telephone wire. I’m like Roger Bannister, now that he’s in a wheelchair.
The salesman said the sale was happening because all the gizmos in the store had to be liquidated. It was a lot of solidfluid, and I would have bought something, but the only thing I was thirsty for was her love.
I was half asleep when I first saw her. She thought I was being flirty and winking at her. One eye open, one eye shut, that’s the best way to see love.
Silence is expansive, filling up a whole room in seconds, like a balloon filled with awkwardness. It’s amazing how saying nothing can be so different from having nothing to say.
I am Clap Man. It’s a reverse super power, because instead of me doing the heavy lifting, I just applaud and encourage and others do all the work.
I have two hands, so when I’m networking and I meet two new people, is it OK to shake both their hands at once? Or would it be more appropriate to organize a group hug?
Why did the world go on being so beautiful in spite of the ugliness he had experienced? The lake was beautiful, serenely beautiful. The forest was beautiful, greenly beautiful. Lake and forest, the whole shimmering world was painfully beautiful. He l...
Destroy us, land and forest takes forever from your children. Walk the circle of life. Have no fear. Together, let us love and protect our children, respect the land and forest, giving back what we have taken.
The rhythm of life runs in cycles. There are times in the darkness and times in the light. The energy of life is like the rain forest in Borneo. Things live, grow, die, fall to the forest floor, rot and then they are born again-Olympia Dukakis
The greatest book is not the one whose message engraves itself on the brain, as a telegraphic message engraves itself on the ticker-tape, but the one whose vital impact opens up other viewpoints, and from writer to reader spreads the fire that is fed...
A sheep walking in a dark forest one sheep found him and bring him to shepherds house but he didn't realize there still wolves in that place, he run into the dark forest and still keep running he need to hide, where he can be safe.Lesson’s learned ...
San, The Princess Mononoke: Even if all the trees grow back, it won't be his forest anymore. The Forest Spirit is dead. Prince Ashitaka: Never. He is life itself. He isn't dead, San. He is here with us now, telling us, it's time for both of us to liv...
None of us can know today if tomorrow morning we will not be counted as part of a group considered outside the law. In that moment the civilized veneer of life changes, as the state props of well-being disappear and are transformed into omens of dest...
When an editor works with an author, she cannot help seeing into the medicine cabinet of his soul. All the terrible emotions, the desire for vindications, the paranoia, and the projection are bottled in there, along with all the excesses of envy, des...
I don’t want to develop—I want to evelop, because it’s more positive. Similarly, would you rather your love evolve or devolve? That’s why if you need me, I’ll be on the sofa trying to evelop myself as a person.
Meatloaf is graphable in how far ahead it is in likeability categories. You can also play Mop the Floor with it. I make love like I make dinner that makes cleaning the kitchen more fun for the whole family.
I think about her sometimes, and wonder what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. I suppose I could just stalk her Facebook page like a normal person, but that doesn’t seem as romantic as surveillance and GPS tracking.
When at a networking event, there's usually a guy alone in the corner talking to himself. That guy is me. Stop by and say hi. My nametag will say Bob, because even if you’re dyslexic you’ll say my name right.
