I was never young. Whoever I was then is dead. I've always figured it that you die each day and each day is a box, you see, all numbered and neat; but never go back and lift the lids, because you've d...
I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired, now, let me feel tired. I mustn't forget, I'm alive, I know I'm alive, I mustn't forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that...
I took the candy wrappers shamefacedly, and felt the extra ten pounds sag around my middle as I held these flags of defeat.Я стыдливо взял конфетные обертки — эти свидетельства моего поражения, — чувс...
I never thought of God as humorous, said Father Stone. The Creator of the platypus, the camel, the ostrich, and man? Oh, come now!
I like to cry. After I cry hard it’s like it’s morning again and I’m starting the day over.
I leave you gifts of Fate most secret; find no other’s Fate, For if you do, no grave is deep enough for your despair No country far enough to hide your loss.
I feel I'm doing what I should've done a lifetime ago.For a little while I'm not afraid. Maybe it's because I'm doing the right thing at last. Maybe it's because I've done a rash thing and don't want...
I don't talk things, sir, said Faber. I talk the meaning of things. I sit here and know I'm alive.
I do wish to run, seize this greatest time in all the history of man to be alive, stuff my senses with it, eye it, touch it, listen to it, smell it, taste it, and hope that others will run with me, pu...
I came on the old and best ways of writing through ignorance and experiment and was startled when truths leaped out of brushes like quail before gunshot.
I bet it’s the eleventh Commandment, murmured the priest, eyes down. What would the eleventh Commandment be? asked Doone, scowling. Why not: ‘THOU SHALT SHUT UP AND LISTEN’ said the priest. Ssh.
How're your children, Mrs. Phelps?' he asked.'You know I haven't any! No one in his right mind, the good Lord knows, would have children!' said Mrs. Phelps, not quite sure why she was angry with this...
How strange the popsicle, the vanilla night, the night of close-packed ice cream, of mosquito-lotioned wrists, the night of running children suddenly veered from their games and put away behind glass,...
How do you get so empty? he wondered. Who takes it out of you? And that awful flower the other day, the dandelion! It had summed up everything, hadn’t it? What a shame! You’re not in love with anyone!...
Hold the dark holiday in your palms, Bite it, swallow it and survive, Come out the far black tunnel of el Día de Muerte And be glad, ah so glad you are… alive! Calavera…Calavera…
Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course,
His eyes took on a different color. It was a subtle shift, a flex, like a man stepping out from the shade of a tree into sunlight on a cloudy day.
Here you lie in the tremendous web. Others are about you, but they are whole—whole hearts and bodies. But all of you that lives is back there walking the desolate seas in evening winds. This thing her...
He was looking for a brightness, a resolve, a triumph over tomorrow that hardly seemed to be there. Perhaps he had expected their faces to burn and glitter with the knowledge they carried, to glow as...
He walked toward the corner, thinking little at all about nothing in particular.