It’s so hard to forget pain, but it’s even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.
It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.
This was freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
This is your life and its ending one moment at a time.
You’re always haunted by the idea you’re wasting your life.
There’s no way you can get the past right. You can pretend. You can delude yourself, but you can’t re-create what’s over.
I am the child of a lunatic. Not a child of God.
I could imagine myself becoming one of Marla’s stories.
Maybe the truth is I really want to like you instead.
If it comes down to a choice between being unloved and being vulnerable and sensitive and emotional, then you can just keep your love.
You ever wonder if Adam and Eve were just the puppies God dumped because they wouldn’t house-train?
Imagine a plague you catch through your ears.
The liberator who destroys my property is fighting to save my spirit. The teacher who clears all possessions from my path will set me free.
This isn’t about guilt or innocence, he says. The dinosaurs weren’t morally good or bad, but they’re all dead.
A child who is disillusioned abruptly, by his peers or siblings, being ridiculed for his faith and imagination, may choose never to believe in anything- tangible or intangible- again. To never trust or wonder.
Folks build a reputation by attacking you while you’re alive – or praising you after you ain’t.
What do you do when your entire identity is destroyed in an instant? How do you cope when your whole life story turns out to bw wrong?
It only takes one mistake and nothing else you ever do will matter. No matter how hard you work or how smart you become, you’ll always be known for that one poor choice.
Here are the shadows left behind by a thousand moments, a thousand moods, of needs traced here on the wall by men who are gone. Here is the record of their being here.
The lucky ones are just born dead.