Creostus’s booming laugh leaves gooseflesh upon my arms. He paces close to me. “Jealous, Priestess? Do you wish to compete for my affections? I should like to see that.” “I’m sure you would. But you will die first and so let us journey to Philon, if you please.
With a low bow, she is gone in a haze of roses and hope.
And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.
You can never really know someone completely. That’s why it’s the most terrifying thing in the world, really – taking someone on faith, hoping they’ll take you on faith too. It’s such a precarious balance, It’s a wonder we do it at all. And yet...
Libraries are the torch of the world, illuminating the path when it feels too dark to see. We mustn’t allow that torch to be extinguished.
When she can’t bring me to heal with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.
Any librarian or scholar will tell you: Close is not the same as accurate.
But we can’t go back. We can only go forward.
A guy’s gotta live, you know, gotta make his way and find his meaning in life and love, and to do that he needs coffee, he needs coffee and coffee and coffee.
Jeez, someone needs to push the reset button on this planet.
Time has no meaning. I feel as if I have been left in the desert to die and am eagerly awaiting the vultures to begin their work and end my misery.
Our mouths and bodies speak for us in a new language as the trees shake loose a rain of petals that stick to our slickness like skins we will wear forever. And just like that, I am changed.
I’ve never done acid, finding it hard to go willingly to a place that could be frightening, hellish, and totally beyond my control. A place much like high school.
But if we are to remain a great empire, we must have a greater understanding of the hearts and minds of others.
I’ve heard it said that God is in the details. It’s the same with the truth. Leave out the details, the crucial heart, and you can damn someone with the bare bones of it.
Travel opens your mind as few other things do. It is its own form of hypnotism, and I am forever under its spell.
People think boundaries and borders build nations. Nonsense-words do. Beliefs, declarations, constitutions-words. Stories. Myths. Lies. Promises. History.
There is no greater power on this earth than story.
It is a giggle full of high spirits and merry mischief, proof that we never lose our girlish selves, no matter what sort of women we become.
We all walk in a land of dreams. For what are we but atoms and hope, a handful of stardust and sinew? We are weary travelers trying to find our way home on a road that never ends. Am I a part of your dream? or are you but a part of mine?