Ask yourself what it is you want more, to ease your ancient fear or to revenge your childish dopey injured male pride. I
Are secrets a tunnel to a dreamworld where you control events?
And you keep on looking. You look because this is the nature of the footage, to make a channeled path through time, to give things a shape and a destiny.
And I knew with total certainty that a protection factor of fifteen was the highest level of sunblock scientifically possible. Now they were selling me a thirty.
Always the pain, the chaos of composition. He could not find order in the field of little symbols. They were in the hazy distance. He could not clearly see the picture that is called a word. A word is...
All this optimism, all this booming and soaring. Things happen like bang. This and that simultaneous. I put out my hand and what do I feel? I know there's a thousand things you analyze every ten minut...
All that incoherence. Selection, election, option, alternative. All behind him now. Codes and formats. Courses of action. Values, bias, predilection. Choice is a subtle form of disease.
A surface separates inside form out and belongs no less to one than the other.
A fact is innocent until someone wants it; then it become intelligence.
Writing is a concentrated form of thinking...a young writer sees that with words he can place himself more clearly into the world. Words on a page, that's all it takes to help him separate himself fro...
Лекарските приемни ме потискат повече и от болниците заради лъхащата от тях минусова продължителност на живота и заради случайния пациент, който си тръгва с добри новини, разтърсва антисептичната ръка...
Slightly older men and women, they had professions and soft slacks with knife pleats and a certain ease of bearing and belonging, the package of attitudes and values known as lifestyle
You shout because it makes you brave or you want to announce your recklessness.
You live in a tower that soars to heaven and goes unpunished by God.
You could put your faith in technology. It got you here, it can get you out. This is the whole point of technology. It creates an appetite for immortality on the one hand. It threatens universal exist...
When hell fills up, the dead will walk the streets.
When a writer doesn’t show his face, he becomes a local symptom of God’s famous reluctance to appear.
When Lee has a certain look on his face, eyes kind of amused, mouth small and tight, he finds himself thinking of his father. He believes it is a look his father may have used. It feels like his fathe...
What’s the point of living if we don’t die at the end of it?
What's the importance of a photograph if you know the writer's work? But people still want the image, don't they? The writer's face is the surface of the work. It's a clue to the mystery inside.