My heart beats to the rhythm of the windshield wipers. I’d better never drive in the desert, unless I want to die. Our relationship has one too many cactuses in it to be deserving of my love.
There’s a traffic jam in the stream. I’d better go fish up a solution. Too bad I left my tackle box at the football stadium, along with all the other worms.
Sometimes my thoughts are too slimy for my brain, and they come shooting out of my penis. They are life-changing thoughts, so I’d recommend taking them deep inside of you.
If counting is thinking, then the longest I’ve ever thought about any one subject continuously for is 127, 983 seconds. I might have also been in love, though I was too distracted to notice.
By identifying that which is disrupting our current moment of bliss, so too can we then take the logical and practical steps to amend the problem.
The spirit is tied to the brain—for the brain makes us who we are. So if our spirit lives after death, so too does our intelligence and personality.
The handholds for hope are there for all of us but are made plainest to those in poverty, for whom survival actually depends on hope in their God.
People say, 'Time heals all wounds.' That may be true, but relocating to an alternate reality can sure help too." -Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1941
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
If there's one thing I've still got, it's my memory. Which is too bad. Maybe if I forgot things once in a while, we'd all be a little bit happier.
To forget is the secret of eternal youth. One grows old only through memory. There's much too little forgetting.
Too many people were obsessed with their heads and were alienated from their bodies, Perls believed, adding: “We have to lose our minds and come to our senses.
He relaxed his hands, lifted one and tucked a strand of wispy blonde hair behind her ear. She didn’t move; she only looked at him. He wondered if she felt it too.
I touched his hand, carefully. Not too intimate, but not some half-assed there-there pat, either. Would he understand? Usually the thought process for a seventeen-year-old boy went girl touching me>omg>boner.
But women have lust, too. Why should they be relegated to the position of custodian of emotions, watcher of the infants, feeder of the soul, body and pride of man?
Public ‘career feminists’ have been more concerned with getting more women into ‘boardrooms’, when the problem is that there are altogether too many boardrooms, and none of them are on fire.
When one door closes another opens but all too often there is a long hallway in between.
How do you walk into someone's life again after twenty-eight years? How do you pick up, when you were too young to know where you left off.
You're sadly fucked up. And really homo, too." Jared scowled. "Bisexual, fuck you very much, and unless I yank your dong it's none of your business anyway.
You have a mother?" His mouth quirked with humor. "Yep, and a father too! Every kid normally has one of each to begin with. He was teasing me in an affectionate way...
Where would the end be? Will the idea—the definition—of perfection stay the same? No. Perfection is too fickle. It’s in our nature to never be satisfied. We always think we can do more.
