It’s a sponge and I’m a sponge and for a second there all our sponge parts are one and I don’t just have square pants, everything about me is squarish because I’m part of a wall.
You might be able to thrash your way out of a spiderweb, but thrashing in quicksand doesn’t work. The harder you fight, the more ground you lose. Struggling merely expedites your inevitable defeat.
Friends don’t build cages for each other.
I figure if there is a God, he or she isn’t paying attention to what we build or if we follow some elaborate rules, but copping a ride on our shoulders, watching what we do ever day. Seeing if we took this great big adventure called life and did something interesting with it.
This isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t what I would have chosen. You must know that. It’s important you know that.
I’m his locomotive and he’s my shield.
Sheep are always looking for a new shepherd when the terrain gets rocky.
I’ll never get laid trying to keep you safe. You’re a train wreck on steroids.
You can’t give somebody faith. They either got it or they don’t.
There’s no point in fighting the tide. It ebbs. It flows. You ride it.
And when he did that, my hands curled into fists because I thought about touching his face like maybe I could catch joy in my hands and hold it.
There aren’t many sins in my bible. Giving up is the greatest one of all.
If he was winter, I was summer. If I was sunshine, he was night. A dark and stormy one.
Could words and symbols wield such power? Could mere scribblings on parchment unmake a person’s moral fiber? Weren’t we made of sterner stuff?
I’d rather live a hard life of fact than a sweet life of lies.
There are only shades of gray. Black and white are nothing more than lofty ideals in our minds, the standards by which we try to judge things, and map out our place in the world in relevance to them.
The wisest man is the silent one. Examine his actions. Judge him by them.
Mom raised us to believe that every lie puts something out there in the world that’s inevitably going to come back and bite you in the petunia.
A lamb in a city of wolves.
Barrons knows virtually everything about me. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere he has a little file that encompasses my entire life to date, with neatly mounted, acerbically captioned photos – see Mac sunbathe, see Mac paint her nails, see Mac almost die.