Often you will discover that the harder you work, and the more wisely you work, the luckier you get. But there is luck, and it helps.
Oh- my twitchy witchy girlI think you are so nice,I give you bowls of porridgeAnd I give you bowls of iceCream.I give you lots of kisses,And I give lots of hugs,But I never give you sandwichesWith bug...
Once, I was a poet, and, like all poets, I spent too long in the Kingdom of Dreams.
One day every soldier in the empire has to shower in the blood of your sacrificial bull. The next they don't even remember your birthday.
One question that has always intrigued me is what happens to demonic beings when immigrants move from their homelands. Irish-Americans remember the fairies, Norwegian-Americans the nisser, Greek-Ameri...
Only the phoenix rises and does not descend. And everything changes. And nothing is truly lost.
Ow, and then, very quietly, it said Fuck, and then it said Ow, once more.
Pain shared, my brother, is pain not doubled but halved. No man is an island
Perhaps it was an afterimage, I decided, or a ghost: something that had stirred in my mind, for a moment, so powerfully that I believed it to be real, but now was gone, and faded into the past like a...
Poetry ain’t what you’d call truth. There ain’t room enough in the verses.
Por muy lejos que te vayas, nunca conseguirás huir de ti mismo.
Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.
Rain in the graveyard, and the world puddled into blurred reflections.
Rainie, mythologies take longer to die than people believe. They linger on in a kind of dream country that affects all of you.
Realmente no lo entiendes, ¿verdad? —repuso—. No quiero tener todo lo que deseo. Nadie lo quiere, no de verdad. ¿Dónde estaría la gracia si tuviese todo lo que quiero? Es eso y nada más, ¿y después qu...
Remember your name. Do not lose hope —- what you seek will be found. Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn. Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story.
Richard did not believe in angels, he never had. He was damned if he was going to start now. Still, it was much easier not to believe in something when it was not actually looking directly at you and...
Richard had noticed that events were cowards: they didn’t occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once.
Richard wondered how the marquis managed to make being pushed around in a wheelchair look like a romantic and swashbuckling thing to do.
Ride the silver fish; you will not drown
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