The story of the creation and similar things in it did not impress me very much, but on the contrary made me incline somewhat towards atheism.
Take it that you have died today, and your life’s story is ended; and henceforward regard what future time may be given you as uncovenanted surplus, and live it out in harmony with nature.
That’s the story of my life; I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.
I’ll think I have a few wonderful friends and all of a sudden, ooh, here it comes. They do a lot of things. They talk about you to the press, to their friends, tell stories, and you know, it’s disappointing.
I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.
There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind-the humorous.
The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it.
The signs of excessive indulgence in this destructive pastime are easily detectable. They are these: A disposition to eat, to drink, to smoke, to meet together convivially, to laugh, to joke, and tell indelicate stories – and mainly, a yearning to paint pictures.
Nothing spoils a good story like the arrival of an eyewitness.
Jazz speaks for life. The Blues tell the story of life’s difficulties.
If we think that this life is all there is to life, then there is no interpretation of our problems, our pain, not even of our privileges. But everything changes when we open up to the possibility that God’s story is really our story too.
My book centers in on the New Testament, the goal being to help a person who wants to understand the Bible to see how what God did as revealed in the New Testament will reveal to them their own personal story.
God cast you in His play, wrote you into His story. He has a definite direction for your life. Fulfill it and enjoy fulfillment. Play the part God prepared for you and get ready for some great days.
Every faith has its story; every faith has its roots.
I wouldn’t trade anything for my story now.
Everyone has at least one story, and each of us is funny if we admit it. You have to admit you’re the funniest person you’ve ever heard of.
Each affects the other, and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one.
No story sits by itself, Sometimes stories meet at corners and sometimes they cover one another completely, like stones beneath a river.
Suddenly, details seemed extremely important. Details were something to grab on to, a way to insert myself into the story.
This is a story about a man named Eddie and it begins at the end, with Eddie dying in the sun.