That's the beauty of it. Have you seen the contraptions these magicians build to accomplish the most mundane feats? They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, I am simply a bird in their midst.
He turns and walks away, moving so quickly that the candle flames shiver with the motion of the air. “I miss you,” Isobel says as he leaves, but the sentiment is crushed by the clatter of the beaded curtain falling closed behind him.
There's magic in that. It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, bec...
If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the unive...
One-night stands were invented to free men from worrying about the size of their penis. And to free women from worrying about the size of their stretch marks.
Kiekvieną akimirką jaučiame, kad negalime laimės išlaikyti, ir nė nebandome <...> Bet jeigu mes nemėginame sučiupti jos ir suturėti savo šiurkščiomis rankomis, tai gal ji, niekieno nebaidoma, išlieka mūsų akių gilumoje? Gal ji išliek...
- <...> Žmogus nesi jau toks svarbus. - Nesvarbus? - Švarcas vėl pakėlė sutrikusį veidą. - Nesvarbus? Žinoma, ne! Bet malonėkite pasakyti man, kas gi tuomet svarbu, jeigu gyvenimas nebesvarbus? - Niekas, - atsakiau žinodamas, kad tai ir tei...
I want to be hurt. I want to be in so much pain that I can’t think and I can’t remember why. That’s what I want. That’s all I want.
They spent pork-barrel money like a tidal-wave sea, but no funds trickled down far enough to reach me. Our books numbered few and were falling apart, and I sat mending pages with a crestfallen heart.
Nick chided a censor, who wished some books gone, and suggested she scan Fahrenheit 451. For the book-budget cutters, Old Claus had no plan, cause if they could read, they just read Ayn Rand.
But the thing is, I didn't make my friends happy and they didn't make me happy. All we did was get stoned out of our minds. That didn't have anything to do with happiness.
I’m not a good kid. Yeah, look, I’m just a piece of paper with the word sad and a bunch of cuss words written on it. A lousy piece of paper. That’s me. A piece of paper that’s waiting to be torn up.
people see so many movies that when they finally see one not so bad as the others, they think it's great. an Academy Award means that you don't stink quite as much as your cousin.
Animals have genes for altruism, and those genes have been selected in the evolution of many creatures because of the advantage they confer for the continuing survival of the species.
There are the people of the day, and the creatures of the night. And it's important to remember that the creatures of the night aren't simply the people of the day staying up late because they think that makes them cool and interesting. It takes more...
To have a solid foundation of skepticism, -that is to say, the faculty of changing at any moment, of turning back, of facing successively the metamorphoses of life.
Think how you love me," she whispered. "I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside me there’ll always be the person I am to-night.
She had a forehead like a dance floor. You should have seen the way the sun danced on her face in the middle of the night. I never actually saw it because I was always asleep in the middle of the night, but I’ll bet it looked unbelievable.
And there you have it...if I knew that I could only have a few nights in that man's arms or nothing, I would take those magic nights and use them to keep me warm for the rest of my life.
After your visits, I twisted my blinds shut every night. I locked out the stars and I never saw lightning again. Each night, I simply turned out the lights and went to bed.
And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night. Its voice cracks, on your name. My eyes close, on your name.
