That’s the funny thing about guns; even untrained hands can feel powerful using them. But take that gun away and you’re left with nothing but a coward whose only skill is how to blindly pull a trigger.
When I reached the street I didn't know whether to go right or left. Soon I'd have to start acting like a person who cared about what happened to him.
When any civilization is dust and ashes," he said, "art is all that's left over. Images, words, music. Imaginative structures. Meaning—human meaning, that is—is defined by them. You have to admit that.
She loves me. She must, because she left flowers in the fridge from her date. She knows how I love flower salad.
I left the door open so you could come in—and I could go out. That’s what being in love is all about.
Although you can not hear my thoughts, Sam, I imagine I’m talking to you. Prayers to the brother who abandoned me. The day after you left Labrador, my honey started flowing. Is my body weeping for your loss?
And nevertheless, when they watched him leave the house, this man they themselves had urged to conquer the world, then they were the ones left with the terror that he would never return. That was their life. Love, if it existed, was something separat...
You need songs that make you feel. Some make you string, some make you weak. Some build determination, some tear you apart. But you need all of those...Run through the pain.
Other, dryer customers came and went, having just stepped out of their conveyances or popped down the street from their houses in the town. They left their umbrellas dripping at the door, and looked at her with that particular combination of sympathy...
Nine times out of ten I left one out. But the one I leave out is never love. I always put love in—even when I put it in your butt.
I love with the heart of two men. Well, I would, if that damned neurosurgeon would go ahead and replace my left brain with the heart of a midget.
I think it was love. She was the kind of woman I’d like to spend the rest of my life with—if I’d just been told I have six months left to live.
Good night, my lord.” The words were pronounced in her most withering tone. By contrast, he remained quite alarmingly unwithered long after she left.
The wood nymph instructors left me in the dust. They told me not to worry about it. They'd had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. But still, it was a little humiliating to be slower than a tree.
Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.
There's release in knowing the truth no matter how anguishing it is. You come finally to the irreducible thing, and there's nothing left to do but pick it up and hold it. Then, at last, you can enter the severe mercy of acceptance.
But have you ever seen one?....They shook their heads. "Not Physically, no. But if you look at this passage - " Man, she liked that Bible. I'd read it and could definitely understand it's appeal, but I didn't have time for this.
I just...I've fantasized about peace and quiet for so long, dreamt about being left alone...but when the TV was off, and the sun was down...I'm in a full sob right now. I've just never felt so alone, and I couldn't take it.
There are no stars, no moon, only knots, only the promise of death. Drums cry out in the abyss and then fade with everything else. Even the shadows fade and all that is left is death. We are all dead, we just haven't figured it out yet.
Let me tell you something, kid," said Mrs. H of Boston and Beacon Hill. "Magic is just a word for what's left to the powerless once everyone else has eaten their fill.
Forgetting is like a great alchemy free of secrets, limpid, transforming everything to the present. In the end it makes our lives into this visible and tangible thing we hold in our hands, with no folds left hidden in the past.
