It’s a half bridge, really, as only four of its original arches remain. It ends midway across the river. Like it reached, tried to reunite with, the other side and fell short.
It’s often a matter of sitting in front of the computer and worrying. It’s what writing comes down to – worrying that things aren’t going to work out.
Nothing good came free. Even love. You paid for all things. And if you were poor, suffering was your currency.
And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.
A man who has no conscience, no goodness, does not suffer.
One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.
All good things in life are fragile and easily lost.
The desert weed lives on, but the flower of spring blooms and wilts.
Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.
Not a word passes between us, not because we have nothing to say, but because we don’t have to say anything.
Marriage can wait, education cannot.
She was the trembler of knees, the spiller of teacups.
I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn’t.
It may be unfair, but what happens in a few days, sometimes even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime...
I think novelists, when they write their books, end up having occasionally serving a purpose and playing roles that they never really fully either intended or even understood.
Yes, hope is a strange thing. Peace at last. But at what price?
As far as I know, he never asked where she had been or why she had left and she never told. I guess some stories do not need telling.
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
There was so much goodness in my life. So much happiness. I wondered whether I deserved any of it.
People say that eyes are windows to the soul.