He was standing on the little ledge of reality he had left, but it seemed to me that he wasn't getting high, just getting level. He had an affinity with pain. If he couldn't cure it, he took it on.
He was holding the image of his own people up: sometimes it was weight enough to stagger under.
He took a trip ... up to ... Elliott's house, his mansion rather. Awful place, twelve bedrooms and swimming pool and media hall and five car garage, but cheap and shoddy all the same, like the one nex...
He looks like the sort of man who can't afford to leave, and doesn't want to stay, and so he is doing both at once.
He has read whole volumes on the philosophy of nonviolence. How peace had to be understood in all its moral dimensions. The proper coexistence of all existents. The excluded middle ground. The surpass...
He could be in any mood or any place and, unbidden, it returned.
Goodness is more difficult than evil. Evil men knew that more than good men. That's why they became evil. That's why it stuck with them. Evil was for those who could never reach the truth. It was a ma...
Cynicism is easy. An optimist is a braver cynic.
An optimist is a braver cynic.
Are you saying I'm a liar?--No I'm just, like, speaking.
نوید آرامش بیشتر از مکافات زندگی دوام میآورد.
باید بنویسد، این مشکلی است که در سنین بالا پیش میآید، احساس را به خاطر می آورید، اما تاریخ را نه. اگر تاریخ را پیدا کنید، احساس را از دست خواهید داد.
Въртящи се врати изхвърляха четвъртинки разговор на улицата.
You're manic-depressive and you're manic-depressive too and you, you're definitely manic-depressive, girl. And you over there in the corner, you're just plain fucking depressive.
What monstrous things, our pasts, especially when they have been lovely.
What he liked about his brother, he said, is that he made people become what they didn't think they could become. He twisted something in their hearts. Gave them new places to go. Even dead, he'd stil...
What happened then was that, for an instant, almost nothing happened. He wasn't even there. Failure didn't even cross his mind. It felt like a sort of floating. He could have been in the meadow. His b...
What Corrigan wanted was a fully believable God, one you could find in the grime of the everyday. The comfort he got from the hard, cold truth--the filth, the war, the poverty--was that life could be...
There'll be lawyers in heaven before you see somethin' so good again.
There wasn't much left for anyone to die for, except the right to remain peculiar.