I want to go home. Then he mentally underlined the last sentence three times, rewrote it in huge letters in red ink, and circled it before putting a number of exclamation marks next to it in his mental margin.
It felt like a small forever.
I feel like I am involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won’t tell me the rules, and who smiles all the time.
He entertained these thoughts awkwardly, as a man entertains unexpected guests. Then, as he reached his objective, he pushed these thoughts away, as a man apologizes to his guests, and leaves them, muttering something about a prior engagement.
Eyes as black and as shiny as chips of obsidian stared back into his. They were eyes like black holes, letting nothing out, not even information.
Adult helplessness destroys children. Or it forces them to become tiny adults of their own.
I know not whether you came to me or I to you. Not whether it was a dream, asleep or awake. I am lost in the darkness of a downcast heart. Dream or reality. Let it be decided tonight.
Writers are liars my dear, surely you know that by now?
Oh- my twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice, I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice Cream. I give you lots of kisses, And I give lots of hugs, But I never give you sandwiches With bugs In.
Biting’s excellent. It’s like kissing – only there is a winner.
Yes. We both have a bad feeling. Tonight we shall take our bad feelings and share them, and face them. We shall mourn. We shall drain the bitter dregs of mortality. Pain shared, my brother, is pain not doubled, but halved. No man is an island.
Words can be worrisome, poeple complex, motives and manners unclear, grant her the wisdom to choose her path right, free from unkindness and fear.
She had the feeling that the door was looking at her, which she knew was silly, and knew on a deeper level was somehow true.
I can get away before the storm hits. Away from a world in which opiates have become the religion of the masses.
I think most things are pretty magical, and that it’s less a matter of belief than it is one of just stopping to notice.
When you say words a lot they don’t mean anything. Or maybe they don’t mean anything anyway, and we just think they do.
If not for Death, they’d be content to simply exist, but with Death, well, their lives will have meaning – a boundary beyond which the living cannot cross.
It seemed to Coraline that it was crouching, and staring down at her, as if it were not really a house but only the idea of a house – and the person who had had the idea, she was certain, was not a good person.
It’s easier to lie to yourself when you say things out loud.
That is the eternal folly of man. To be chasing after the sweet flesh, without realizing that it is simply a pretty cover for the bones.