Donald was verging on the sad realization that humanity had been thrown to the brink of extinction by insane men in positions of power following one another, each thinking the others knew where they were going.
I also very purposefully employ the caps button, because they can, in this way, hear us scream in space:.
Explain to them that these people are not evil, which we might understand and combat. Explain to them that these people do not care and cannot be made to, which is far worse.
And the only thing that ends a war like this is trust, release, love for those we hate, arms around those who would kill us, forgiveness, forgiveness, forgiveness.
Juliette felt a wash of fear and relief, those two opposites twisting together like staircase and rail.
She would survive, she realized. But it would be a different her. It would be someone else who did the surviving, who would drag memories of a former self along, a tiny echo of a woman somewhere deep in her skull, a small voice of who she used to be.
This is the problem with illusions: They form easy enough, but once they fall apart, they’re impossible to put back together. They’re like humans in that way.
It was what to replace injustice with that very few gave thought to.
What she had forever seen as her calling – this living apart and serving the greater good – now felt more a curse. Her life had been taken from her. Squeezed into pulp. The juice of her efforts and sacrificed years had dripped down through a silo that, just forty levels below her, hardly knew and barely cared.
The law is the law. You broke it. You knew you were breaking it.
Our actions, you know? They last forever. Whatever we do, it’ll always be what we did. There’s no taking them back.
The Wrath is what Peter named my mood before eight in the morning. Our marriage might’ve survived if we’d only had to do afternoons.
Abusive relationships often go like this: falling in love, not seeing the ugly side, coming up with rationalizations when you do. It’s hard to get free, because you just want to recapture some lost feeling. You want to feel safe, respected, honored again. And you’ll play games with your mind to make that happen. It’s the alcohol’s fault; it’s the stress of their job; you may even make the great sin of blaming yourself.
In deep space, no one can hear you sob.
But I can’t say the words. This is how relationships are most like the things I collect: We build these hard exteriors. We pull ourselves inside, block off the only way in, don’t let anyone see our true selves.
And I think you’re right. I think I’ll be a little sore in the morning, but I think I’ll feel stronger, eventually.
There was something about being sent to one’s death and surviving a baptism of fire upon one’s return that pushed most squabblings into the deepest recesses of one’s mind.
This is the thing about being a hero: It’s all about when you get your picture taken.
Hush my Darling, don’t you cry I’m going to sing you a lullaby Though I’m far away it seems I’ll be with you in your dreams. Hush my Darling, go to sleep All around you angels keep In the morn and through the day They will keep your fears at bay. Sleep my Darling, don’t you cry I’m going to sing you a lullaby.
They say bad things come in threes, but I don’t think that’s true. I think bad things keep right on coming. They don’t stop. They’ll never stop. It’s just too depressing to keep counting, so we start over after the third bad thing.