The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the good byes that tell us we’re still alive.
Time is a keyhole, he thought as he looked up at the stars. Yes, I think so. We sometimes bend and peer through it. And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do – the wind that blows through the keyhole- is the breath of all the living universe.
Dancing is life.
Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of regard.
Reading is the creative center of a writer’s life.” -.
It’ll be your damnation, boy. You’ll wear out a hundred pairs of boots on your way to hell.
I know that the thing under my bed doesn’t exist. But I also know that if I keep my feet under the blanket, it won’t grab my ankle.
Kill you all!” The clown was laughing and screaming. “Try to stop me and I’ll kill you all! Drive you crazy and then kill you all! You can’t stop me!
Sometimes a man and a woman reach a crossroads and linger there, reluctant to take either way, knowing the wrong choice will mean the end... and knowing there’s so much worth saving.
What I’d show you is much more bizarre than anything we have looked at so far, and I warn you in advance that the first impulse will be to laugh. That’s all right. Laugh if you must. Just don’t take your eye off what you see, for even in your imagination, here is a creature who can do you damage.
He was one of those quite rare adults who communicate with small children fairly well and who love them all impartially – not in a sugary way but in a businesslike fashion that may sometimes entail a hug, in the same way that closing a big business deal may call for a handshake.
They say suicides and murderers go to Hell. If so, I will know my way around, because I’ve been there for the last eight years.
You’d be surprised what a person can live with,” Dan said.
There was murder, there was rape, there were unspeakable practices, and all of them were for the good, the bloody good, the bloody myth, for the grail, for the Tower.
I don’t have to listen to rumors about a man when I can judge him for myself.
For,” I said, “a murdered man or woman dies not in God’s time, but in Man’s. He... or she... is cut short before he... or she... can atone for sin, and so all errors must be forgiven. When you think of it that way, all murderers are a gateway for heaven.
If you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the tools to write.
Case fuckin closed.
That’s not such a bad thing,′ he said to me. ‘In nightmares we can think the worst. That’s what they’re for, I guess.
A brave man could think. A coward couldn’t.