Daisy looked up at him with the kind of expression that Jesus might have given someone who had just explained that he was probably allergic to bread and fishes, so could He possibly do him a quick chicken salad...
Stories are webs, interconnected strand to strand, and you follow each story to the center, because the center is the end. Each person is a strand of the story.
Every hour wounds. The last one kills.
Gods die. And when they truly die they are unmourned and unremembered. Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.
The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names.
I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.
Dreams are hopes, and echoes of hope.
Nobody’s seen Jesus in years.
I was not so old that I would deny my own senses.
Bod quite liked crows. He thought they were funny and he liked the way they helped to keep the graveyard tidy.
I don’t think you should ever insult people unintentionally: if you’re doing it, you ought to mean it.
Some of us claim that he was a messiah, and some think that he was just a man with very special powers. But that misses the point. Whatever he was, he changed the world.
Have you ever had one of those days when something just seems to be trying to tell you somebody?
The squirrel has not yet found the acorn that will grow to the oak that will be cut to form the cradle of the babe that will grow to slay me.
There are accounts that, if we open our hearts to them, will cut us too deeply.
You don’t get explanations in real life. You just get moments that are absolutely, utterly, inexplicably odd.
We are small but we are many We are many we are small We were here before you rose We will be here when you fall.
Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.
He wondered whether home was a thing that happened to a place after a while, or if it was something that you found in the end, if you simply walked and waited and willed it long enough.
Life is a rock, but the radio rolled me over.