The grass in the back field was almost waist high, and now there was goldenrod, that late-summer gossip which comes to tattle on autumn every year. But there was no autumn in the air today; the sun was still all August, although calendar August was almost two weeks gone.
The body was much smaller than the heart it had held.
What was right with him he’d only give you a little at a time. What was wrong with him he kept bottled up inside.
I want to tell you something else, something I’m really starting to believe: I’m going to be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, and not next week, but eventually. As okay as we mortals are privileged to get, anyway. It’s good to know that – good to know that survival is still an option, and that sometimes it even feels good. That sometimes it actually feels like victory.
Curiosity is a terrible thing, but it’s human. So human.
Kill your darlings.
As I said at the beginning, this is a horror story.
You get used to marvelous things. You take them for granted. You can try not to, but you do. There’s too much wonder, that’s all. It’s everywhere.
Looking back on it, I sometimes think my life was like a Dickens novel, only with swearing.
Tell you what, the worst part of growing up is how it shuts you up.
Belief is a high hurdle to get over and I think it’s even higher for smart people. Smart people know a lot, and maybe that makes them think they know everything.
Smart people know a lot, and maybe that makes them think they know everything.
If we have free will, then you have to invite evil in.
Also, I suppose I wanted to say goodbye to someone, and have someone say goodbye to me. The goodbyes we speak and the goodbyes we hear are the goodbyes that tell us we’re still alive, after all.
Try to write your own story. Consider writing about yourself, or rewriting something in your life you wished had gone differently. Then, be brave and share with someone what you’ve written. How did this process feel for you?
Sometimes God uses a broken tool.
You can’t help how you feel. Feelings are like breathing. They come in and go out.
A brave man helps. A coward just gives presents.
You never know where the trapdoors are in your life, do you?
There’s a dark well in everyone, I think, and it never goes dry. But you drink from it at your peril. That water is poison.