Often you will discover that the harder you work, and the more wisely you work, the luckier you get. But there is luck, and it helps.
Take what you have learned, and move on.
To be Despair. It is a portrait. Only close your eyes and feel.
You hurt. It’s okay. I hurt too. Hold my hand.
They could not truly look dead, because they did not ever look alive.
You were her way here, and it’s a dangerous thing to be a door.
Adults should not weep, I knew. They did not have mothers who would comfort them.
Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting.
Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, Some of them are things people are scared of. Some of them are things that look like things people used to be scared of a long time ago. Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren’t.
Does it make you feel big to make a little boy cry?
I saw the world I had walked since my birth and I understood how fragile it was, that the reality was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger.
She was the storm, she was the lightning, she was the adult world with all its power and all its secrets and all its foolish casual cruelty.
I wondered if that was true: if they were all really children wrapped up in adult bodies, like children’s books hidden in the middle of dull, long adult books, the kind with no pictures or conversations.
Small children believe themselves to be gods, or some of them do, and they can only be satisfied when the rest of the world goes along with their way of seeing things.
It’s always too late for sorries, but I appreciate the sentiment.
Words save our lives, sometimes.
But there was a kitten on my pillow, and it was purring in my face and vibrating gently with every purr, and, very soon, I slept.
I would read. I would explore.
I was not scared of anything, when I read my book...
This was the void. Not blackness, not nothingness. This was what lay beneath the thinly painted scrim of reality.