Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?
We’re not punished for our sins, lad. We’re punished by them.
The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.
When you can write music that endures, bravo. Until then, keep quiet and study the work of those who can.
There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could’ve been and never was.
But words are more powerful than anything.
Things are NEVER what they seem, Pa, I thought. I used to think they were, but I was wrong or stupid or blind or something. Old folks are forever complaining about their failing eyesight, but I think your vision gets better as you get older. Mine surely was.
There were times when I lifted my face to the sky, stretched my arms wide to the winter night, and laughed out loud, so happy was I. The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness. Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.
I could almost hear the characters inside, murmuring and jostling, impatient for me to open the cover and let them out.
I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.
I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.
Yeah. Sure. My brother’s dead. My mother’s insame. Hey, let’s have a crepe.
Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
The guitar’s still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please.
Because in a small dark room, a broken child lies on a filthy bed and stares up at a high window. He waits for me, too. And I – I who have failed at everything and have failed everyone – I must not, I cannot, I will not fail him.
For the first time in a long time, he didn’t think of the past. And of all the things he’d lost. He thought only of the present, and what he had. And how it was so much more than he deserved. And he prayed then that he would never, ever lose it.
She’s got a big belt around her hips. It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.
It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
One expects decent people to stand up for the good of all. Decent people shut their doors and hide behind them as decent people do. Massacres could never happen if it weren’t for decent people.
He loves the sparkling fountains and their cascades and says the strangest things as he watches them. they look like stars breaking. Or, They look like Mama’s diamonds. Or, They look like all the souls in heaven.