The sweet smile of a young woman. There is nothing better in the world. It is worth more than salt. Something in us sickens and dies without it. I am sure of this. Such a simple thing. How strange. How wonderful and strange.
Too much looking can get in the way of seeing”.
The world needs people like you,′ Simmon said in the tone of voice that let me know he was turning philosophical. ‘You get things done. Not always the best way, or the most sensible way, but it gets done nonetheless. You’re a rare creature.
I tend to think too much, Bast. My greatest successes came from decisions I made when I stopped thinking and simply did what felt right. Even if there was no good explanation for what I did.” He smiled wistfully. “Even if there were very good reasons for me not to do what I did.
Once, I sang colors to a blind man. Seven hours I played, but at the end he said he saw them, green and red and gold. That, I think, was easier than this. Trying to make you understand her with nothing more than words. You have never seen her, never heard her voice. You cannot know.
Si estad leyendo esto, seguramente estoy muerto.
He felt himself go cold as he suddenly realized what a dangerous game he was playing. So this is the difference between telling a story and being in one, he thought numbly, the fear.
This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.
Nothing in the world is harder than convincing someone of an unfamiliar truth.
That’s why stories appeal to us. They give us the clarity and simplicity our real lives lack.
Should I expect her to always love me best, and most, and only?
These were bad memories, but over the years I had brought them out and handled them so often there was hardly a sharp edge left to them.
I realize that I cannot say enough. So. Since I cannot say enough, at least I will avoid saying to much”.
I trouped, traveled, loved, lost, trusted and was betrayed.
Everyone knows one story, I thought. Everyone knows at least one.
Too many people think speed is the hallmark of a good musician.
Once, I sang colors to a blind man. Seven hours I played, but at the end he said he saw them, green and red and gold.
I brought you a feather with the spring wind in it, but since you were late... ′ she looked a me gravely, ’you get a coin instead.
Eventually, Bast spoke up. “May I ask a question, Reshi?” Kote smiled gently. “Always, Bast.” “A troublesome question?” “Those tend to be the only worthwhile kind.
A pinned butterfly holds no delight. A pinned butterfly is nothing like a butterfly at all.