It has occasionally been remarked upon that it is as easy to overlook something large and obvious as it is to overlook something small and niggling, and that the large things one overlooks often cause problems.
And I would try and walk far enough away that people would not assume I was with him.
The moonlight was enough. It would do.
Stories are in one way or another mirrors. We use them to explain to ourselves how the world works or how it doesn’t work. Like mirrors stories prepare us for the day to come. They distract us from the things in darkness.
You can’t run away from home without destroying somebody’s world.
He goes his way. We travel a spiral. The quickest way is sometimes the longest.
You can always cheat an honest man, but it takes more work.
I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies.
You’re sick. Sick and evil and weird.
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.
For some, it was easier to take the leap from the leafless tree and dance on nothing until dancing was done.
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.