It’s easy, there’s a trick to it, you do it or you die.
There was nowhere they could have gone and they went there anyway.
Hey, that’s life, flick it off if you can’t take a joke.
The end of the story of Batman is he’s dead. Because, in the end, the Batman dies. What else am I going to do? Retire and play golf? It doesn’t work that way. It can’t. I fight until I drop. And one day, I will drop.
Recounting the strange is like telling one’s dreams: one can communicate the events of a dream, but not the emotional content, the way that a dream can colour one’s entire day.
I thought about moving south, about continuing to run, continuing to pretend I was alive. But it was, I knew now, much too late for that. There are doors, after all, between the living and the dead, and they swing in both directions.
I remembered something somebody had once said to me. It’s okay. Everyday is freshly ground.
You know how is it when you love someone? And the hard part, the bad part, the Jerry Springer Show part is that you never stop loving someone. There’s always a piece of them in your heart.
Talk is free but the wise man chooses when to spend his words.
For me, I would rather read a good book, from a contented author. I don’t really care what it takes to produce that.
As sure as water’s wet and days are long and a friend will always disappoint you in the end.
The stuff you bring back from dreams is free.
America was, to them, the place that good people went to when they died. They were prepared to believe just about anything could happen in America.
Diana used to tell me she had a travel jinx, something I only really started to believe when the plane door fell off.
A god’s relationship to the world, even a world in which he was walking, was about as emotionally connected as that of a computer gamer playing with knowledge of the overall shape of the game and armed with a complete set of cheat codes.
How would you feel about life if Death was your older sister?
If he didn’t care about you, you couldn’t upset him.
It stared at them, and it paused for a hundred years, which transpired in a dozen heart beats.
And, selfish and scared, I wonder how much more he has to give.
Friday’s a free day. A woman’s day.