It’s an artist’s job to show people the world they live in. We hold up mirrors.
Coraline wondered why so few of the adults she met made any sense.
Mostly you are what they think you are.
People pursue things. As soon as they have them they run away from them.
Walk any path in Destiny’s garden, and you will be forced to choose, not once but many times.
They all do the same things. They may think their sins are original, but for the most part they are petty and repetitive.
When you die, they can make you into diamonds now. It’s scientific. That’s how I want to be remembered. I want to shine.
Nobody will ever hurt her. She’ll just smile her faint vague wonderful smile and walk away.
Chantal is having a relationship with a sentence. Just one of those things. A chance meeting that grew into something important for the both of them.
Dreams are composed of many things, my son. Of images and hopes, of fears and memories. Memories of the past, and memories of the future...
He stared up at the stars: and it seemed to him then that they were dancers, stately and graceful, performing a dance almost infinite in its complexity.
Nobody gets through life without losing a few things on the way.
Go get your heart broken.
You people always hold onto old identities, old faces and masks, long after they’ve served their purpose. But you’ve got to learn to throw things away eventually.
I suspect that most authors don’t really want criticism, not even constructive criticism. They want straight-out, unabashed, unashamed, fulsome, informed, naked praise, arriving by the shipload every fifteen minutes or so.
I still love the book-ness of books, the smell of books: I am a book fetishist – books to me are the coolest and sexiest and most wonderful things there are.
I suppose the point you grow up is the point you let the dreams go.
You don’t want to ask after the health of anyone, if you’re a funeral director. They think maybe you’re scouting for business.
I walk across the dreaming sands under the pale moon: through the dreams of countries and cities, past dreams of places long gone and times beyond recall.
As we age, we become our parents; live long enough and we see faces repeat in time.