The true birthplace is that wherein for the first time one looks intelligently upon oneself; my first homelands have been books, and to a lesser degree schools.
From the way that people have always talked about your heart being broken, it sort of seemed to be a one-time thing. Mine seemed to break all the time.
Florentino Ariza always forgot when he should not have that women, and Prudencia Pitre more than any other, always think about the hidden meanings of questions more than about the questions themselves.
God, with a wisdom I can't claim to understand, called you home a long time ago, and the tears I shed that night have never seemed to dry.
Where does discontent start? You are warm enough, but you shiver. You are fed, yet hunger gnaws you. You have been loved, but your yearning wanders in new fields. And to prod all these there's time, the bastard Time.
That's the thing about a great book. Every time you read it, it's different, because you're different. You've changed since the last time you picked it up, things have happened to you.
We are left at the brink of our future each day and the only real choice we have is not to jump but instead make our path through the briar.
Like language, I think any who have not acquired spirituality by a certain age are doomed to be never fluent and you are likely to mimic the one that surrounds you.
Most magick I have experienced can be written off as a stew of psychology and coincidence, and I truly believe this is where magick is best worked.
Hades does not have a runny nose. I know this. The entire Greek pantheon no doubt knows this. For some reason, my nose is unaware of this basic fact of mythology.
If she had some level of theism, we might have a shared theological root from which I could shape holy words.
She's right. We would compose poems about love and tell stories that have been heard in some form before. But it would be our first time feeling and telling.
I like spending time with my family. And if you have the same last name as me, we might be family. I’m an orphan, so I was hoping we could hang out.
I have received the command from Heaven: May my time be always long and prosperous.
There is only one page left to write on. I will fill it with words of only one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.
Suddenly it felt like there was a ticking time bomb in the house. I didn’t have all the time in the world to make you love me again; I had only a few short months.
Forever is a really long time, you know? What do you do with forever?" "The same thing you do when you don't have forever." He smiled wanly. "Live.
Hurt shouldn’t pile up like this inside of someone. No one should suffocate beneath pain on top of pain. You should have time to breathe, time to scream it out until it doesn’t exist anymore.
The Christian versions of the household codes were clearly progressive for their time, but does that mean they have the last word, that Christians in changing places and times cannot progress further?
I've died so many times. I'm 65. On my 40th birthday, my girlfriend gave me a reel with ways I had died, whether it was by knife, or electrocution or drowning or being thrown off a building or whatever it might have been. I've died a lot of times!
For me, writing time has always been precious, something I wait for and am eager for and make the best use of. That's probably why I get up so early and have writing time in the quiet dawn hours, when no one needs me.
