I was beginning to realize that what I wanted was the noise of people living near me, but not near enough to cause any inaudible noises to show up because I knew that those sorts of noises often shift into inaudible minor chords and I am unable to de...
I'd never seen anything more beautiful -even as I ran, gasping and screaming, I could appreciate that. And the last seven months meant nothing. And it did not matter if he did not want me, I would never want anything but him, no matter how long I liv...
The bond forged between us was not one that could be broken by absence, distance, or time. And no matter how much more special or beautiful or brilliant or perfect than me he might be, he was as irreversibly altered as I was. As I would always belong...
I wondered how long it could last. Maybe someday, years from now.If the pain would decrease to the point where I could bear it.I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life.
There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.
Suddenly, the world I had scrutinised for so long was all around me, as if I had leaned forward and climbed into the television like Alice through the looking-glass. I had no idea just how deep the rabbit hole would go.
To Mr. Blot, who went through life an unconscious example of the raison d'être of the British Empire, a shipwreck was merely one of the many things to be ignored. His was a calming influence.
And after his unparsable response, including a passage where he said he was 'blurring the boundaries between a thing and thought,' she said, 'Thank you, I get lost sometimes,' while laying two fingers on his folded arm.
Travel does this: it creates space that allows thoughts and memories to intrude and assert themselves with impunity. Smells and sights, the quality of light, the honk of a horn -- can all act as touchstones when least expected.
Our relationship, however, soon went awry. Occasionally, something will happen that will change your opinion of someone irrevocably, that wil shatter the ideal you've built up around a person and force you to see them for the fallible and human creat...
for a man of 55 who didn't get laid until he was 23 and not very often until he was 50 I think that I should stay listed via Pacific Telephone until I get as much as the average man has had
That's it? That's your big goodbye?" Eve asked. Claire looked at Eve mystified. "I think I need guy CliffNotes." "Guys aren't deep enough to need CliffNotes." "What were you waiting for, flowery poetry?" Shane snorted. "I hugged. I'm done.
Claire stretched out against the wall and kissed it. "Glad to see you, too," she whispered, and pressed her cheek against the smooth surface. It almost felt like it hugged her back. "Dude, it's a ," Shane said from behind her. "Hug somebody who cares...
Faster!" Shane yelled. Eve hit the gas hard, and whipped around a slower-moving van. The firing ceased, at least for now. "You see why I didn't want you to stop?" "Okay, your father is officially !" Eve yelled. "Oh my God, look at my car!
He likes to know things. He checks out book and record collections when he visits people, looks in medicine cabinets, takes inventory in refrigerators. He eaves drops on conversations at public phone booths. He reads murder victims' mail.
I’m thirty-six years old, but I don’t feel like it. Some days I feel like I’m twenty-one, some days I feel like I’m pushing sixty.
Love is only a word, until we decide to let it possess us with all its force. Love is only a word, until someone arrives to give it meaning. Don't give up. Remember, it's always the last key on the key ring that opens the door.
Yes! That's what all our talk about a decent world has been... just so much bullshit." "We did say it was still only a dream." "And a bloody useless one at that. Life's a fuck-up and it's never going to change.
Some cities, like wrapped boxes under Christmas trees, conceal unexpected gifts, secret delights. Some cities will always remain wrapped boxes, containers of riddles never to be solved, nor even to be seen by vacationing visitors, or, for that matter...
El problema es que se recuerda esta lista con una intensidad tal que su mismo ardor confunde los hechos. La lista era un bien absoluto. La lista era la vida. Más allá de sus márgenes se abría el abismo.
If I lived by some code, my actions would become predictable. The enemy would take advantage of this and I’d be killed. An honorable death doesn’t exist. Death is death. But it’s funny that survival and revenge require the same thing: no honor ...
