We have always absorbed our own disintegration.
The quiet lines matter as much as the noisy ones.
Bushmills was a Protestant whiskey. Jameson for Catholics.
If he fell, well, he fell—but if he survived he would become a monument, not carved in stone or encased in brass, but one of those New York monuments that made you say: Can you believe it? With an exp...
فرزند همیشه کودک نمیماند اما مادر همیشه مادر است.
When I sat down beside them, their silence was lined with tenderness. We have to admire the world for not ending on us.
There is always room for at least two truths.
و کسی چه میداند در پس یک زندگی، زندگی دیگری در جریان است.
With all respects to heaven, I like it here.
The mailman carried around huge bags of gloom.
She expected no judgement and wanted no pity.
The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough.
The children looked like remnants of themselves. Spectral. Some were naked to the waist.Many of them had sores on their faces. None had shoes. He could see the structures of them through their skin. T...
And when you go around in circles, brother, the world is very big, but if you plow straight ahead it’s small enough.
They entered the wild country. Broken fences. Ruined castles. Stretches of bogland. Wooded headlands. Turfsmoke rose from cabins, thin and mean. On the muddy paths, they glimpsed moving rags. The rags...
They bobbed back and forth, little Halloween apples.
داشتن زبانچرب و نرم میتواند به هرگونه حماقتی جلا دهد.
That he'd see the light and it'd still be in a tunnel.
She was tall, exotic, so very young she seemed to flutter.
And there are moments that I would like to know what might have happened if it hadn't happened, and why it happened the way it did, and what it might have taken to prevent it from happening.