Beware of Doors.
Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. Being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway.
Be boring, knowing everything. You have to give all that stuff up if you're going to muck about here.
As coisas não precisam ter acontecido para serem verdadeiras. Contos e sonhos são verdades-sombras que vão perdurar quando os reles fatos não forem mais do que pó e cinzas esquecidas.
All tomorrows start here.
He said nothing. It seemed the smartest thing to say.
There were ten tongues within one head, and one went out to fetch some bread, to feed the living and the dead." "What does it mean?" "A wren made a nest inside the skull of a gibbeted corpse, flying i...
I don't think immediate tragedy is a very good source of art. It can be, but too often it's raw and painful and un-dealt-with. Sometimes art can be a really good escape from the intolerable, and a goo...
You do your own time in prison. You don't do anyone else's time for them.
Truth is not in what happens but in what it tells us about who we are. Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all.
You're weird,' she said. 'You don't have any friends.''I didn't come here for friends,' said Bod truthfully. i came here to learn.'Mo's nose twitched. Do you know how weird that is?' she asked. Nobody...
You're alive...That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you're dead, it's gone. Over....
You wouldn't die in here, nothing ever dies in here, but if you stayed here for too long, after a while just a little of you would exist everywhere, all spread out. And that's not a good thing. Never...
You were her way here, and it's a dangerous thing to be a door.
You think you know all there is to know about here immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.
You seem all normal and quiet on the surface. But you are so much weirder than I am, and I am, extremely, fucking, weird.
You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.
You people always hold onto old identities, old faces and masks, long after they've served their purpose. But you've got to learn to throw things away eventually.
You know what happens when you dream of falling? Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.
You got to understand the god thing. It’s not magic. It’s about being you, but the you that people believe in. It’s about being the concentrated, magnified, essence of you. It’s about becoming thunder...