The tattoo artist inflicts pain and I take it. With each breath I count to one again. Each inhale, each exhale, time passes in the smallest of pieces, and pieces still smaller than those. This is how you count a life. This is how you go through it. E...
Yes. What is it, guilt, revenge, love, what?” I swallowed. “I live alone.” "And your point is?” "You have the Pack. You’re surrounded by people who would fall over themselves for the pleasure of your company. I have no one. My parents are d...
Don Fanucci: Young man, I hear you and your friends are stealing goods. But you don't even send a dress to my house. No respect! You know I've got three daughters. This is my neighborhood. You and your friends should show me some respect. You should ...
Mallory: [On Andrea] He's going to kill me when the war's over. Major Franklin: You're not serious. Mallory: Yes, I am. So is he. [pause] Mallory: About a year ago, I gave a German patrol a safe passage to get some of their wounded into hospital. I g...
Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone. Sam: I still feel at home ...
Plainview: [Daniel, suspicious of Henry, aims a gun at him] I want you to tell me something. Henry Brands: What? Plainview: What's the name of the farm next to the Hill house? What was the name of the farm next to the Hill House? Henry Brands: I... I...
Jerry: Hi, Mister. Would you fill 'er up, please? Old Man: I got no gas. Kirk: What? You're all out of gas? Old Man: My tank's empty! Transport woun't be here until late this afteroon. Mayby not even 'til tomorrow morning. Franklin: Hey, do you know ...
Their screams would echo through the house and reverberate against my eardrums until my mind would fracture. Years went by and with each fracture; I lost a piece of my soul until I became lost and empty inside.
If for us culture means museum and library and open house and art gallery, for them it meant the activities and amenities of everyday life... The rift is... between "folk" culture, where the unschooled can be wise, and print culture, which enslaved t...
I think people believe in heaven because they don't like the idea of dying, because they want to carry on living and they don't like the idea that other people will move into their house and put their things into the rubbish.
The Japanese think it strange we paint our old wooden houses when it takes so long to find the in them. They prefer the bonsai tree after the valiant blossoming is over, the leaves fallen. When bareness reveals a merit born in the vegetable strugglin...
And it was so still. The silence of the fields seemed to enter and move familiarly through the house. The wind used the open hall. He felt that he was in a mysterious, quiet, cool danger. It was necessary to do what?...to talk. ("Death Of A Traveling...
Look: the trees exist; the houses we dwell in stand there stalwartly. Only we pass by it all, like a rush of air. And everything conspires to keep quiet about us, half out of shame perhaps, half out of some secret hope.
How is Eric?' 'Very tightly wound. Plus, a lot of stuff happened that he'll tell you about.' 'Thanks for the warning. I'll go to the house now. You're my favorite breather.' 'Oh. Well ... great.' She hung up.
But I couldn’t leave Hunter alone in the house, and I would’ve felt terrible if I’d asked Eric to go out in the woods by himself, even though I knew he wouldn’t think anything about it. In fact, probably he’d have sent Pam.
You meet a new person, you go with him and suddenly you get a whole new city...you go down new streets, you see houses you never saw before, pass places you didn't even know were there. Everything changes.
Torvald: I would gladly work night and day for you, Nora--bear sorrow and want for your sake. But no man would sacrifice his honour for the one he loves. Nora: But hundreds of thousands of women have done!
Momentarily, through one good eye, he could see the moon. Something below moved and he span around to where he could see the house. His family were in there. Alone. He could not protect them and he would not see them again.
There it is." And he watched with now-gentle sorrow and now-quick delight, and at last quiet acceptance as all the bits and pieces of his house mixed, stirred, settled, poised, and ran steadily again. "The Happiness Machine," he said. "The Happiness ...
Ah, yes, choice. I chose to let my ghosts stay in past. Past is history you know. Living is now. I sat. I breathed. I let past go. I let future go. I am. That is all.
On the morning of what should have been Amelia Ashley's birthday, the river valley that had once housed High Bridge changed for Joshua Mayhew. For the first time in many years, it seemed beautiful to him. For the first time in many years, it was beau...
