That night when we made love, she saw a side of me she’d never seen—the left side.
We don't have to know everything. If you believe in fate and some kind of meaning and sense in this fucked-up world, then believe with abandon, love. Enjoy it.
You have the here and now. You have a future. Deal with the past so you can stop looking back. It's just the pain.
If you find holes in my book that you could drive a car through, do not be too sure they were not left there for that express purpose.
In the end, I will have to make a choice about how to tell my story....There has to be a moment of going forward, when all the possibilities are left behind.
While the art of printing is left to us science can never be retrograde; what is once acquired of real knowledge can never be lost.
If the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. The guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness. (Monseigneur Bienvenu in _Les Miserables_)
If a writer starts worring about what he or she has left out or forgotten, they might not be able to write even a single line.
I was born when he kissed me, I died when he left me, I lived a few weeks while he loved me
And we are made different. On the instant. What we know, what we were, is banished by that instant, razed like a castle under siege, and nothing is recognizable is left. The world is unmade.
The king died, and then the queen died of a broken heart. Her secret lover left her for a younger woman.
As you near a finish line, do not slow down. Instead, run faster. Give all you have left until it is done. It is then that you may collapse.
Falling into ruin was a bit like falling in love: Both descents stripped you bare and left you as you were at your core. And both endings are equally painful.
As is often the case, the sole person not left speechless in awe by my brilliance is my own beloved wife.
I think at first I wanted to kill all of them. Everyone. Because if there were no people left alive, then I’d never have to love one of them again.
It was a fantastic feeling, but it left me restless because the most important thing in it was the longing, for what was going to be, not for what I did or had done.
And there are no words left, try as men may, to describe that little death, that incandescent instant when, transacted with mutual love, there is no difference between sweet submission and exquisite conquest.
Life comes at you hard and fast, it doesn’t slow for anybody. It weathers you, destroys you. It breaks down your mind, body, and soul until there’s nothing left. Then what?
He once told me that an August evening was "as hot as three toads in a Cuisinart," a comparison that left me blinking two days later.
She looked herself in the eyes and saw that there was nothing left. No sense. It must have gone through that hole in her chest along with everything else.
We had some good times at school. I didn't know how good those times was till I left, but I guess that's the way of it
