Money was never a problem, passports were never required. There were always new places to dance.
If you don’t care for obscenity, you don’t care for the truth; if you don’t care for the truth, watch how you vote.
In a true war story, if there’s a moral at all, it’s like the thread that makes the cloth. You can’t tease it out. You can’t extract the meaning without unraveling the deeper meaning. And in the end,...
In a way I wanted to stop myself. It was cruel, I knew that, but right and wrong were somewhere else.
They sat smoking the dead mans dope until the chopper came
Imagination is a killer.
A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth.
I survived, but it's not a happy ending.
The wars don't end when you sign peace treaties or when the years go by. They will echo on until I'm gone and all the widows and orphans are gone.
Zapped while zipping.
He wished he could've explained some of this. How he had been braver than he ever thought possible, but how he had not been so brave as he wanted to be. The distinction was important.
When your afraid,reallyafraid, you see things you never saw before, you pay attention to the world.
The things they carried were determined to some extent by superstition.
What stories can do, I guess, is make things present.I can look at things I never looked at. I can attach faces to grief and love and pity and God. I can be brave. I can make myself feel again.'Daddy,...
It was the burden of being alive. Awkwardly, the men would reassemble themselves, first in private, then in groups, becoming soldiers again. They would repair the leaks in their eyes. They would check...
Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are.
Not a minister, he said, but I do like churches. The way it feels inside. It feels good when you just sit there, like you're in a forest and everything's really quiet, except there's still this sound...
He'd been coiled like a snake for years and the tension had gone slack and when he was ready to spring the spring wasn't there, but it could be recoiled.
It’s about love and memory. It’s about sorrow. It’s about sisters who never write back and people who never listen.
Bir şeyi taşımak, sırtlamak demekti; Üsteğmen Jimmy Cross'un Martha'ya olan aşkını tepeler ve bataklıklar boyunca sırtlaması gibi. Geçişsiz kullanıldığında yürümek anlamına gelirdi, fakat bunun ötesin...
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