I believe death is only a door. One closes, and another opens. If I were to imagine heaven, I would imagine a door opening. And he would be waiting for me there.
I added 'writers' to my list of people not to trust. They make everything up.
How Opulent the building had felt after my own parents' bland box of suburbia - one day, I promise, I'm going to live in a house like this. Another promise I've broken; at least that one was only to m...
Good moods’re as fragile as eggs...Bad moods’re as fragile as bricks.
For white men, to live is to own, or to try to own more, or to die trying to own more. Their appetites are astonishing! They own wardrobes, slaves, carriages, houses, warehouses, and ships. They own p...
El orgullo de llegar hasta el final. Certezas. Cuando te despojas de las creencias que te endilgan las institutrices, los colegios y los Estados, descubres dentro de ti verdades indelebles. Roma entra...
Dawn Madden’s got cruel eyes like a Chinese empress and sometimes one glimpse at school makes me think about her all day.
Civilization’s like the economy, or Tinkerbell: If people stop believing it’s real, it dies.
But,' I ducked the subject, 'don't heaps of artists use pseudonyms?' 'Who?' 'Um . . .' Only Cliff Richard and Sid Vicious came to mind.
Bury the hatchet. Hatchets don't work on ghosts. They cannot hear you. You only end up hatcheting yourself.
Books tended not to switch their stories whenever it suited them.
Because her laughter spurts through a blowhole in the top of her head and sprays all over the morning.
As many truths as men. Occasionally, I glimpse a truer Truth, hiding in imperfect simulacrums of itself, but as I approach, it bestirs itself & moves deeper into the thorny swamp of dissent.
As many truths as men. Occasionally, I glimpse a truer Truth, hiding in imperfect simulacrums of itself, but as I approach, it bestirs itself & moves deeper into the thorny swamp of dissent. Tuesday,
Are you what you believe yourself to be?
Aoife, in her dreams, makes a noise like a friendless harmonica.
And don’t knock nepotism, Cheeseman; my well-connected uncles all agree, nepotism made this country what it is today.
All rising suns set.
All revolutions are the sheerest fantasy until they happen; then they become historical inevitabilities.
Air in the chateau clammy like laundry that won't dry. Door-banging drafts down the passageways. Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying...