Did you think I'd only want you once? Oh, my, you are more naïve than I thought. Why would I go through so much trouble for a mere tryst? Does a man ride a stallion but one time before condemning it to the abattoir?
Real life, life finally uncovered and clarified, the only life in consequence lived to the full, is literature. Life in this sense dwells within all ordinary people as much as the artist. But they do not see it because they are not trying to shed lig...
Afternoon tea needn’t stand on ceremony. Anything that becomes more important than sweet fellowship, whether lace or linen or the china itself, is pretense. How much more we enjoy life when the pretenses are discarded!
Apple juice looks so much like urine that the only way to tell them apart is to remember that I keep my pee in the fridge, and the apple juice in the toilet. Help yourself to something to drink. Just flush if you want a refill.
I can only think of one good reason not to kill you: because if I killed you, I’d have to bury you, and that means shoveling. And I hate shoveling almost as much as I hate digging up dirt on politicians.
A half a hole is the same as a whole hole, no matter how much love you intend to bury. Love is a treasure, and to keep it safe you need to do as the pirates did—and focus on the booty. With treasure, it’s not about the chest—it’s all about th...
No matter how much water a sink takes on, it never lives up to its name. The Titanic would never have sunk if it were made out of a sink.
The words were unexpected, but so incisively true. So much of prayer is like that - an encounter with a truth that has sunk to the bottom of the heart, that wants to be found, wants to be spoken, wants to be elevated into the realm of sacredness.
You stare down your opponent, lights twinkle, but you don’t blink. This is all you and that’s all him, and it ain’t all that much. An instant later you wake up in a hospital. Your anus hurts. Long live sports.
I wonder about death, I who may never know it. It looks much like ecstacy, the way they open their mouths as they drown, the way their fingers dig into your skin. Their eyes are wide and startled and they trash in your hands as though with an excess ...
I breathe in... the fragrance of love, and moist sand the one his roses left on both my hands I just keep on breathing every moment as much as I can preserving it, in my body for the day it can’t.
Why do we spend so much of our limited time on this earth focusing on all the things that our eulogies will never cover?
I'm not talking about the scars that separate your skin, Parker. I'm not blind, I can see those. I'm talking about the scars much deeper than that. The scars that exist within you. The ones you actually try to hide.
Oh, this coming back to an empty house,' Rupert thought, when he had seen her safely up to her door. People - though perhaps it was only women - seemed to make so much of it. As if life itself were not as empty as the house one was coming back to.
She knew exactly what he meant. Despite their differences, of their differences, they were a perfect mismatched set. Two sides of the same tarnished penny. An out-of-step Fred and Ginger. Vaughn was just as fucked up as she was - he was just so much ...
What I can't understand is why the silly things you say makes so much sense." "I'll tell you why," said Papa Dima. "It's because the best idea is the idea you least expect. And the unexpected always seems silly at first.
I don't see,' I said, 'how people stand being old. Your insides all dry up. When you're young you're so self-reliant. You don't even need much religion.
Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.
Of course there’s a risk that that could happen, but what is the alternative? To never allow myself to get close to anyone ever again? Never know the joy of loving someone for fear that it could end up in tears? My heart might stay safe, but it wou...
Perhaps one has to have placed life in the center of one’s worldview and valued it as much as I have in order to know that one may not keep it, but must yield it up.
Nonetheless, love is a funny thing. More specifically, second loves are a funny thing. For no matter how special that second or third or even fourth love is, no matter how much you can’t live without him, the first one always creeps in.
