Secrets affect you more than you’d think. You lie to keep them hidden. You steer talk away from them. You worry someone’ll discover yours and tell the world. You think you are in charge of the secret,...
In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for the human species, selfishness is extinction. Is this the doom written within our nature? If we believe that humanity may transcend tooth & claw, i...
In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for the human species, selfishness is extinction.
We looked at each other for the last time; nothing is as eloquent as nothing.
In racy Victorian novels, beware of young widows.
There no such thing as something! Why? Because everything's already turning into something else!
Внизу Бунтаро жует «Принглз» и смотрит фильм, полный киборгов, мотоциклов и сварщиков.Киваю на экран:— Что смотришь?— Проверяю два закона кинематографа.— Какие?— Первый закон гласит: «Любой фильм, наз...
To my hens, I'm a two-legged giant who throws them corn and keeps stealing their eggs.
Is peace of mind the co-workability of your laws?
It is a cycle as old as tribalism. In the beginning there is ignorance. Ignorance engenders fear. Fear engenders hatred, and hatred engenders violence. Violence breeds further violence until the only...
It is a gift from your ancestors and a loan from your descendants.
I’d learn betrayals came in various shapes and sizes, but to betray someone’s dream is the unforgivable one.
It'll be all right. Julia's gentleness makes it worse. In the end, Jace.It doesn't feel very all right.That's because it's not the end.
It's a small world. It keeps recrossing itself.
It's not lies or anything, just truths I made up.
It's true, reading too many novels makes you go blind.
With a story, as with a well-chosen gift, we’re happiest when surprised by something we didn’t know we wanted.
You have to know someone intimately to be able to love them. So love at sight is a contradiction in terms. Unless in that first sight there's some sort of mystical gigabyte downloading of information...
No one’s ever very sure if doves and pigeons are the same bird or not.
She was widely read enough to appreciate my literary wit but not so widely read that she knew my sources. I like that in a woman.
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