The sweetest thing I could say about my mother and father is that if I had the choice, I would have picked them. But I don't have any belief in biology or DNA as compelling conduct. The idea that we owe people something because we're related to them ...
If I had my choice, I would be writing by typewriter. I worked on newspapers for 10 years. I typed with the touch system, and unfortunately, you can't keep typewriters going today. You have to take the ribbons back to be re-inked. You have to - it's ...
The move away from writing poetry was gradual. It was a gentle slope into a muddy pond; it was a collection of choices. There was no one thing that took the pen from my hand. Life got in the way. Poetry was an elective. I elected to let it slip into ...
I think an important lesson from the game is that once you have made a move, you cannot take it back. You really have to measure your decisions. You think a lot. You evaluate your choices very carefully. There's never any guarantee about what's going...
Souls do not break neither do hearts. Ravaged by time, they continue living within us and it is our choice whether to remove the walls of self preservation that we build as protection or to hide behind them and remain hardened within our comfort zone...
Even in cases where most people are doing the right thing, talking about the minority who are doing the wrong thing can encourage people to give in to temptation.
Meditation is not hard to understand. Anyone who knows how to worry knows how to meditate. Worriers are skilled in the meditation process but are meditating on the wrong kind of thoughts.
You can obsess and obsess over how things ended—what you did wrong or could have done differently—but there's not much of a point. It's not like it'll change anything. So really, why worry?
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
We think the fire eats the wood. We are wrong. The wood reaches out to the flame. The fire licks at what the wood harbors, and the wood gives itself away to that intimacy, the manner in which we and the world meet each new day.
If collapse is anything, it is a planetary immersion in the maelstrom of paradox. Unless we understand and honor paradox, we will end up, like all of the mainstream media on earth, asking all of the wrong questions.
I told myself 'Everything is a being! The shout that passes into the air is an entity like an animal, since it is born, produces a movement, and is again transformed, in order to die. So the fearful mind that believes in incorporeal beings is not wro...
You wanted hatchlings.” “I know. I just didn’t want those hatchlings. Personally, I blame your father.” Bercelak’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me?” On a burst of laughter, she exclaimed, “Well that came out horribly wrong!
If you had the ability to make things right, you would have kept them from going wrong in the first place. That's the problem. You don't have the ability, as we all are. It is only the grace of God that can make amends for your mistakes.
Emma has it wrong. You don’t ditch your men, you kill them.” “I won’t kill you.” She stepped in front of me and took my hand, watching me take the last drag of my cigarette. “I like you too much.
They're not going to arrest you,' Skulduggery said as they walked through the door. 'They might glare at you and say angry words, but they won't arrest you. Well, they arrest you. There's a good chance they will. But the important thing is that done ...
But why is it so hard to forgive?' Mrs. Conners asked. 'Pride,' Dad said. 'This person has already wronged you in some way, and now you are the one who has to swallow your pride, give something up, in order to forgive him.
He saw in that instant a life he could not conceive of opening before him, a hopeless abyss. Either way he was doomed: He did what was wrong, and condemned himself, or he did what was right, and remained a ghost.
If a demon and a vampire mated, their offspring would be unique but in harmony, like a Labrador retriever crossed with a poodle. Voila, labradoodle! But a vemon was a made creature, as if one took the front half of the Lab and jammed it onto the back...
It's amazing the stupid things I say sometimes. I mean, you could start an entire branch of scientific research about the stuff I say that gets proved wrong while I'm still busy saying it.
Is there something wrong?” he asked. She gave a short negative motion with her head. And then words, so sweet, like a cool northern breeze blowing off the lake. “You could hold me now.” It was almost his undoing. “Ah baby.
