Just as modern motorways have no room for ox-carts or wandering pedestrians, so modern society has little place for lives and ways that are too eccentric.
The only difference between falling in love and being in love is that your heart already knows how you feel, but your mind is too stubborn to admit it.
One thinks of the failure of representation since 9/11, the proliferation of novels, the media glut, the surfeit of images that somehow slide too easily into a banal repertoire, commodified shock.
Forgetting: that, too, was the heart's slow way of healing, but it could only be done alone. Love and loss turns us into the most solitary of creatures, their mysteries can never entirely be shared.
For the first time in years, he felt the deep sadness of exile, knowing that he was alone here, an outsider, and too alert to the ironies, the niceties, the manners, and indeed, the morals to be able to participate.
My ma always told me that when I found things were too hard to figure out, I could probably bet that I hadn't prayed on it first.
It is the useless things that make life worth living and that make life dangerous too: wine, love, art, beauty. Without them life is safe, but not worth bothering with.
He knew what she wanted, and he wanted it, too; he was ready, but not, despite her gorgeousness, with Tiglah. Tiglah was not worth losing his ability to touch a unicorn.
Jacksonville has pedophiles, bestiality enthusiasts, and mannequin fuckers. We also have other kinds of politicians too.
Two steps forward...one step back...I've always hated that old cliche too...I believe that we should all be able to dance through life and only change the tempo now and then.
Pet names are a persistant remnant of childhood, a reminder that life is not always so serious, so formal, so complicated. They are a reminder, too, that one is not all things to all people.
Too many abused beers have suffered in the name of networking. Let us find a better way to mix torture and business.
I tell you solemnly, that I have many times tried to become an insect. But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness- a real thorough-going illness.
He swatted at her with his book. "Shut up and read, will you?" He lay back down and closed his eyes. Emma glanced over to check that he was smiling, and smiled too.
But then, I knew so little about my mother over the last decade of her life. I had been too wrapped up in my own drama.
Love is you wearing her favorite shirt of yours, just like you did yesterday and the day before. And the day before that too.
The length of people I love is too long to list. But if you were to do it, it would look like a phone book.
Books do pretend ...but squeezed in between is even more that is true—without what you may call the lies, the pages would be too light for the truth, you see?
It's and old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died and so we shared that, too.
Say it. But..." "But what?" he asked. She whispered it, sounding too vulnerable. "But only if its the truth, Caine. Only. If." "I love you," he said.
It is an axiom in my mind, that our liberty can never be safe but in the hands of the people themselves, and that too of the people with a certain degree of instruction. This it is the business of the State to effect, and on a general plan.
