If ... you are looking for a large dose of truth with some all too human foibles and faults and long nights of coffee drenched brains and frequent trips to the bathroom then this book is for you.
In her way, she was a hard one. Faith in any sort of natural justice was nothing but a night light; she knew of that. Whatever she did, she would end the same way with everyone does: flat on her back with a tube in her nose, wondering, "Is this all?
I close my eyes, knowing that afterward we will fall asleep together on our small mattress, as we do every night, listening to the wind in the palm trees outside our window, believing in our thick dreams that we are capable of nothing cruel.
Clown: Good Madonna, why mournest thou? Olivia: Good Fool, for my brother's death. Clown:I think his soul is in hell, Madonna. Olivia:I know his soul is in heaven, Fool. Clown: The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.
Blacker than the night, the wedge penetrated the darkness. An F 117 raced by, the roar from its engines screaming through the interior of the chopper, and then it sliced away a piece of sky and disappeared into the void. -Narrator, Truth Insurrected:...
It’d be quite absurd to equate a math equation with love. But that is exactly what I’ve done. I’m giving a four-hour lecture on it on Friday night. Can I count you among the attendees?
If you’re wearing a space suit, I’ll take a unicrescent sandwich; hold the mayonnaise—and the moon. (But don’t hold it in your hands.) Let us dance like the moon is hollow and inhabited by beings of light who give off enough energy so I can b...
Yes, I read. I have that absurd habit. I like beautiful poems, moving poetry, and all the of that poetry. I am extraordinarily sensitive to those poor, marvelous words left in our dark night by a few men I never knew.
Last night I snuck an orchestra into the elevator at my apartment. We made elevator music history until Marvin got his oboe caught in the door and Mrs. Hoffstead started singing "Yes We Have No Bananas Today" in the hall so loud the police were calle...
If my love were an ocean, there would be no more land. If my love were a desert, you would see only sand. If my love were a star- late at night, only light. And if my love could grow wings, I'd be soaring in flight.
Rhythm. Life is full of it; words should have it, too. But you have to train your ear. Listen to the waves on a quiet night; you’ll pick up the cadence. Look at the patterns the wind makes in dry sand and you’ll see how syllables in a sentence sh...
Struggling and suffering are the essence of a life worth living. If you're not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone, if you're not demanding more from yourself - expanding and learning as you go - you're choosing a numb existence. You're denying ...
It was possible, I saw now, to be a grotesque, to be huge and free, to wander the streets in utter freedom despite your atrocity, as long as you did it when everybody else was sealed inside their little lit boxes. Now it made sense – why monsters c...
Then I played the song that hides in the center of me. That wordless music that moves through the secret places in my heart. I played it carefully, strumming it slow and low into the dark stillness of the night. I would like to say it is a happy song...
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. 'We spent one night together.' 'You had sex then?' 'No we crocheted a quilt.' I cocked my head to side and gave him my nastiest glare." Lorelei Preston to Agent Brody-The Wild Hunt
I drove in last night,' he said. 'I couldn't sleep, it was too hot. So I went outside. I was feeling melancholy. Then I danced with a beautiful girl, and I felt better. What's your story?
Facing our fears, skeletons, and mistakes is paramount in finding ourselves-in living with ourselves. Once it's done, that fear will be laid to rest, and she'll be stronger for having dealt with it and have more peace becausse she's not carrying the ...
It seemed that the printers of the African maps had a slightly malicious habit of including, in large letters, the names of towns, junctions, and villages which, while most of them did exist in fact, as a group of thatched huts may exist or a water h...
With her enchanting songs, her rare beauty, and clever tricks, this wild 'wanderess' ensnared my soul like a gypsy-thief, and led me foolish and blind to where you find me now. The first time I saw her, fires were alight. It was a spicy night in Barc...
[Mouse is] with us. The dog is a handicap-assist animal." The kid lifted his eyebrows. "My mouth is partially paralyzed," I said. "It makes it hard for me to read. He's here to help me with the big words. Tell me if I'm supposed to push or pull on do...
Denys (Finch-Hatton) has been written about before and he will be written about again. If someone has not already said it, someone will say that he was a great man who never achieved greatness, and this will not only be trite, but wrong; he was a gre...
