Love is a bronze statue sinking in quicksand. But if I hand you a lasso, will you try to save the statue—or use the lasso to hang yourself? If you need me, I’ll be here to kick the chair out from under your feet.
I trained for months to be a boxer. Not Mike Tyson style, but more like Fed Ex. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Well, I’m not really a lover, but I am slightly more romantic than I am brave, and I’m not at all courageous.
I wake up to write stuff down all night. Useful things like this: To more efficiently make love nocturnally, I must combine the best characteristics of bats, bears, and my Uncle Norman who disappeared in the mountains in ’94.
After you first tell someone you love them, the weight of the wait for them to tell you they love you too feels like an elephant doing jumping jacks on the back of your mouse-like ego.
I had to hand it to him, leaving the empty glove lying on the bed was an apt metaphor for love. Two things I can say about my grandpa are that he is wise, and his left hand is probably cold.
She asked why I wanted to be friends, and I replied, “I love meatloaf.” Of all the things I could have said, that summed up what I hoped our relationship would one day become.
I introduced myself as the man who’d introduce her to her future husband. Then I called over my clone, knowing full well that after they’d fallen in love and gotten engaged, I was going to kill him and take his place.
Love is the last thing on my mind right now. But of course it’s the last thing on my mind, because I was just thinking about it. I always think about love when I’m not thinking about my ex girlfriend.
When I masturbate, I pump my hand so fast it’s like a hummingbird blur. But I make love like the anti-hummingbird. In fact, in bed I’m so slow with my love making it’s almost indistinguishable from sleep.
See all the women seated, youth in their face lifts, old age in their hands.
I am beginning to realize, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, that one of the problems I have in life is a tendency to completely romanticize how things will be in the future, which inevitably leads to disappointment because it's pretty much never, ...
Reading is difficult. People just aren't meant to read anymore. We're in a post-literate age. You know, a visual age. How many years after the fall of Rome did it take for a Dante to appear? Many, many years.
The present convergence of crises––in money, energy, education, health, water, soil, climate, politics, the environment, and more––is a birth crisis, expelling us from the old world into a new.
I guess I just couldn't see standing there -- alive, talking, thinking, breathing, being -- one second, and dead the next. It really bothered me. Death by violence isn't the same as dying any other way, accident or disease or old age. It just ain't t...
It's not our job to toughen our children up to face a cruel and heartless world. It's our job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless.
When I think of the Middle Ages I think of castles, Catholicism, and taking your kids to soccer practice.
I felt suddenly very young - or perhaps I felt my age: an almost childlike twenty-two, rather than that permanent middle-age that attaches itself to the man who lives alone and supports himself by wearing a suit in a city not of his birth.
We carry about us the burden of what thousands of people have said and the memories of all our misfortunes. To abandon all that is to be alone, and the mind that is alone is not only innocent but young -- not in time or age, but young, innocent, aliv...
Murph: [through video monitor] Today is my birthday. And it's a special one because you once told me that when you came back, we might be the same age. Well, now I'm the same age that you were when you left... and it'd be really great if you came bac...
[last lines] [using English subtitles] Homer, the aged poet: [in German] Tell me of the men, women, and children who will look for me - me, their storyteller, their bard, their choirmaster - because they need me more than anything in the world. Homer...
Tony Stark: [Clint is introducing the Avengers to his wife] She's an agent of some kind. Clint Barton: Everyone, this is Laura. Laura: Hi. [smiles] Laura: I already know who all of you are. Tony Stark: [Clint and Laura's kids come into view] [Bewilde...
