One word I’d use to describe space is lonely. The only way I’ll board a space shuttle is if I had a babysitter with me. You know, to watch the baby I’ll make with her.
Make (the reader) think the evil, make him think it for himself, and you are released from weak specifications. My values are positively all blanks, save so far as an excited horror, a promoted pity, a created expertness... proceed to read into them ...
If I were a waiter, and a bald guy complained there was a hair in his food, I’d say, “Keep it, compliments of the house. We all pitched in to give you that. Too bad we couldn’t come up with 80,000 more.
When I say ‘practice’ I don’t mean repeating an act until you get it right. In this use, it means to instill regular discipline to accomplish a specific task, ritual without which we feel incomplete, or that our experience of each day is less.
I plant the “flag” in camouflage, though you couldn’t see by looking at it. (I hide behind my patriotism, and I hide my patriotism among red, white, and blue foliage.)
In busy days, we might lose track of what brings us holiday joy, but our spirit holds the answers. Look for what makes you smile! Notice the small wonders! Embrace what lightens your heart! Choose play when it's offered! Listen to the whispers of you...
The rumor is that my cousin dates phoenix sculptures made out of cheese. It has to be true, because it's too weird not to be. Also, consider the evidence. He lives in Wisconsin and does not own a microwave. It's the kind of thing you wish to read abo...
But, nevertheless, if there is even the slightest recognition, liberation is easy. Should you ask why this is so—it is because once the awesome, terrifying and fearful appearances arise, the awareness does not have the luxury of distraction. The aw...
Renaldina told Renaldo and Renaldo told me, so that’s two points for possible miscommunication, especially when you consider that she’s deaf and he’s blind, so it went through two language variations and two incompatible methods of travel, like...
Reality, my strange and precious one. Reality is fabric. Fabric is reality. And your reality here is far easier to live with than where I was on the other side. So that’s why I don’t want to go back, and why you wouldn’t like it.
Comparing how you feel on the inside (bad) to the way someone else looks on the outside (great) is a losing proposition. It's an impossible standard.
If my love were an ocean, there would be no more land. If my love were a desert, you would see only sand. If my love were a star- late at night, only light. And if my love could grow wings, I'd be soaring in flight.
Rhythm. Life is full of it; words should have it, too. But you have to train your ear. Listen to the waves on a quiet night; you’ll pick up the cadence. Look at the patterns the wind makes in dry sand and you’ll see how syllables in a sentence sh...
Our minds, unedited by guilt or shame, are not for public consumption, because they would either be hurtful or else just make us look like the selfish and unkind bastards we are. We don't share thoughts, we share carefully sanitized, watered-down ver...
It's an absurd request. Our minds, unedited by guilt or shame, are selfish and unkind, and the majority of our thoughts, at any given time, are not for public consumption, because they would either be hurtful or else just make us look like the selfis...
At first it's pretty cool: the limitless fruit of knowledge hanging low in your path. Then you realize it's the only thing to eat around here.
I came back, Uncle Eddie. Last year, after the Henley, I could have gone to any school in the world -- I could have done anything, but I came back." "You ran away, Katarina." "And now I'm back." "You're still running.
Have you made any other friends since we've been here?" I gave him the death stare. "Yes, actually." "Who? I want a name." "Jamie Roth." "The Ebola kid? I heard he's a little unstable." "That was one incident.
If only there was enough space on this tiny card to evoke my unfettered joie de vivre for what you have done. The gaiety, the mirth, the heavenly bubbling of every effusive cell that sings inside me for your kind and pithy offering.
Kami," he said, "you're crying." "No, I am not," Kami lied. "I got something in my eye." "You got something in your eye." "Yes. Possibly a speck of dust," Kami said, and broke down. "All right, possibly my feelings.
I kept walking. Have you ever done that? Just walk. Just walk and have no idea where you're going? It wasn't a good feeling, but not a bad one either. I felt caged and free at the same time, like it was only myself that wouldn't allow me to feel eith...