I’ll tell you what I can do, but I’ll tell you silently and invisibly, because honestly, there’s nothing I can do. And what I can do is love you.
Love takes courage, if you’re doing it right. Not the kind of courage a soldier has, but the kind of courage a writer has. Say, I’m a writer, and I’m a lover—therefore I must be courageous.
Our love was full of passion that only youth can provide. When she left me, I was heartbroken. But it was inevitable. Kindergarten was just around the corner, and we were both going to different schools.
The common thread from all those stories was that talking helped, and listening, and time. One day I would find my own place. I couldn't run there, though, because it didn't exist yet; I had to build it myself, out of forgiveness, truth, and terrifyi...
My face was growing hot, but I kept talking. "You're the only one who believes in me most of the time." He shook his head. "You keep us going. Everybody knows that." "But you're the one who keeps me going. You're what I'm fighting for in all this.
No one is ever quite ready; everyone is always caught off guard. Parenthood chooses you. And you open your eyes, look at what you've got, say "Oh, my gosh," and recognize that of all the balls there ever were, this is the one you should not drop. It'...
We all belong here equally...Just by being born onto the earth we are accepted and the earth supports us. We don't have to be especially good. We don't have to accomplish anything. We don't even have to be healthy.
One false step, and you’ll fall all the way to Tartarus—and believe me, unlike the Doors of Death, this would be a one-way trip, a very hard fall! I will have you dying before you tell me your plan for my artwork.
Keep in mind that in the whole long tradition of storytelling, from Greek myths through Shakespeare through King Arthur and Robin Hood, this whole notion that you can't tell stories about certain characters because someone else owns them is a very mo...
Okay, you must have forgotten that I know when someone's lying-it's one of my special, freaky priestess gifts, remember-the one you love to use until it becomes inconvenient for you? You can try to throw me off, but even half truths ring false with m...
I actually hate Christmas," says Eileen. "Everybody has this idea you have to have a good time, like happiness comes in a ruddy packet." Her face is flushed with heat. "One time, I stayed in bed all day. That was one of my best Christmases.
It's dangerous because my thoughts get away from themselves. Mixed with emotion, they pile up like the garbage that surrounds me. They stack layer upon layer, deeper and deeper, month after month- crushing, festering, smoldering. One day something is...
She was crazy. I could be too. It was my greatest fear, that I'd snap one day too. Just like she had. I wanted to live life because if that day came I wanted to have lived once.
She pointed to the wreckage of one of the frigates in the distance. Half the ship had landed atop one of the towers on the edge of the city, the other half on the flatland beyond. “You didn’t…do that, did you?” He shrugged with proper dramati...
I cover my bedroom windows with tinfoil, because it keeps out the morning sun, and it makes it seem like I’m living on a spaceship. Neil Armstrong once called me to learn how to walk on the path of love, and I told him, “One giant leap, followed ...
I couldn’t tear my eyes from the window, wanting to drink in as much of St. Louis as I could, knowing somewhere out there, one of those infinitesimally small lights was him. I wondered if he’d look up and see the planes crossing the sky like shoo...
My painful memories sift through me like sand through stretched fingers. Only small pieces cling and stay around for me to keep, the rest just disappear. I know not where and I don’t
He rolled the other way and watched the digital display of his alarm ticking seconds off he'd never get back. This is the life we're given. One life. One opportunity to be happy, to make others happy, and I'm letting it slip through my fingers becaus...
Letting go. Everyone talks about it like it's the easiest thing. Unfurl your fingers one by one until your hand is open. But my hand has been clenched into a fist for three years now; it's frozen shut.
I had a dream about you. You were trying to perfect the art of sexual intercourse, and I offered you the use of one of my statues to practice on. Artists have to stick together, even if one artist is sticking it to another artist’s work.
I think there's a secret part of me that would like to drop my entire life off a cliff and watch it break into a million pieces
