Information is the only thing that can be lost in an imperishable universe. Mind is the only thing that truly dies.
You have to impress him! Be independent and plucky, but often do things that are moronic and out of character!
If you would know my path and follow in its way, then know the land about, both track and willage, in its bridge and in its drownings. Know the outcast rat-shacks, relic stones and gill-halls. Mark each path above and know the underpath below, its secret way from vault to treasure hole.’ My.
Alma had told him once that to smell burning was a symptom schizophrenics suffered from, adding “but then they probably set fire to things quite often, so it’s bound to be a tricky judgement call.
They made you into a victim, Evey. They made you into a statistic. But that’s not the real you. That’s not who you are inside.
Madness was all very well if you were Alma and in a profession where insanity was a desirable accessory, a kind of psycho-bling. You couldn’t get away with it down Martin’s Yard, though. In the reconditioning business there was no real concept of delightful eccentricity. You’d find yourself as the recipient of a pharmaceutical lobotomy provided on the National Health, as a result of which your waistband would expand as your abilities to think, talk and respond to stimuli contracted. This.
They are bright and exciting. Like America. Like its women.
Crazed with helplessness, I cursed God and wept, wondering if he wept also.
He’d been wrong to tell the freaked-out teenager that it would all get better, because actually it didn’t. It just faded to a deep held chord, a pedal-organ drone behind the normal noise of life, a thing that you forgot about and thought you’d put away forever, but it was still there. It was still here. He.
Love. His love for Cathy and the kids. That had been one of his protective mantras, he was certain, except love just made things crueller, gave you so much more to lose.
It was always a bad sign when better-off types drew comparisons between unsightly ghetto populations and some animal or other, most especially those species that we had, reluctantly, to poison periodically. Why didn’t people keep their lame excuses to themselves? Mick.
His sister, in a big turquoise Angora sweater, leaned upon the wood frame of the open nursery door, anxiously looking out to see if he was really going to show, beaming and waving like a pastel colored TV Muppet when she spotted him.
Delightfully, however, even phrases of world-ending awesome fury, spoken through a split lip, were quite funny.
Seymour, we do not dignify absurdities with coverage. This is still America, god damnit! Who wants a cowboy actor in the White House?
These days, superhero comics think the audience is certainly not nine to 13, it’s nothing to do with them. It’s an audience largely of 30-, 40-, 50-, 60-year old men, usually men. Someone came up with the term graphic novel. These readers latched on to it; they were simply interested in a way that could validate their continued love of Green Lantern or Spider-Man without appearing in some way emotionally subnormal.
We’re saints and sinners both, the lot of us, or else there’s no saints and no sinners.
I find it difficult sometimes to read exploration as other than a euphemism for empire and exploitation. The.
It was as if life was one great big impersonal piece of machinery.
Behind gods, ghosts, and people squats the state, which asserts total access to both public and private space: the.
Meat movies... In which the horror rests with the idea of doing to humans what humans do each day to trees in their thousands.” “Yes, as a symbol... Close your eyes, Mrs. Cable. Close your eyes and shout ‘timber’.