I am short, so I like the little guy/underdog stories, but they are not straightforwardly about one size versus another. Think about, say, Jack and the Beanstalk, which is basically a big ugly stupid...
How is it that one day life is orderly and you are content, a little cynical perhaps but on the whole just so, and then without warning you find the solid floot is a trapdoor and you are now in anothe...
Here's my life - I have to mine it, farm it, trade it, tenant it, and when the lease is up it cannot be renewed.
He's only a dog. Yes but he has found me out.
He hates for hate's sake. There are people like that. People who have everything. Money, power, sex. When they have everything they play for more sophisticated stakes than the rest of us. There are no...
Happy is an adult word. You don't have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as try...
HE: History has no smell.ME: Is that why we are nostalgic for it?HE: Breathe in, breathe out. The past doesn’t stink like the present.
Fools stay in love. I am a fool.
Everyone knows a homosexual is no closer to being a woman than a rhinoceros.
Eating was easy. Thinking was hard.
Death will be like that. We will be forever recognizing people we have never met.
De ce masura iubirii este pierderea ei?
Asla yalan söylemeyin. İçinizde hiçbir şey kıpırdamadıysa bir şeyin sizi etkilediğini asla söylemeyin. Siz bir kitabı elinize alabilirsiniz ama bir kitap sizi odanın öbür ucuna fırlatabilir. Bir kitap...
And then I saw that the running away was a running towards. An effort to catch up with my fleet-footed self, living another life in a different way.
And the world goes on regardless of joy or despair or one woman's fortune or one man's loss. And we can't know the lives of others. And we can't know our own lives beyond the details we can manage. An...
A tough life needs a tough language - and that is what poetry is.
And what is memory but a rope slung across time?
They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?
Live in the space between chaos and shape. I walk the line that continually threatens to lose its tautness under me, dropping me into the dark pit where there is no meaning. At other times the line is...
Every moment you steal from the present is a moment you have lost for ever. There's only now.