Her heart was pounding hard, not with excitement but with fear. The head could tell the heart all that was eighteen years over, but in matters of emotion the heart had its own brilliant vocabulary.
Darkness loves him. He dances with it like a lover and the moon comes up over the purple hill and what was sweet smells sour. Smells like poison.
Lecture all you want, you picked me up when I was down and I guess I owe you that, but don’t tell me about pain. Nobody knows unless they’re on the inside.
His fingers were permanently yellowed with chalk dust rather than nicotine, but it was still the residue of an addicting substance.
The guns-for-everyone advocates hate that statistic, and dispute it, but as Bill Clinton likes to say, it’s not opinion. It’s arithmetic, honey.
In a week, you’ll take it for granted,” he said dismissively. “That’s the way it works with miracles.
In the brain of a madman only the fuming present exists, with its endless shouting urges, paranoid speculations, and grandiose assumptions.
Reality was a drunk buying a lottery ticket, cashing out to the tune of seventy million dollars, and splitting it with his favorite barmaid. A little girl emerging alive from a well in Texas where she’d been trapped for six days. A college boy falling from a fifth-floor in Cancun and only breaking his wrist. Reality was Ralph.
I’m afraid to go to sleep. I’m afraid my dead friends will come to me, and that seeing them will kill me.
Not all are called to the way of the sword or the gun or the ship, but all serve ka.
Head clear. Mouth shut. See much. Say little.
It takes the average human seven minutes to go to sleep, but according to Hand’s Human Physiology, it takes the same average human fifteen to twenty minutes to wake up.
And when the end comes, and when it is as horrible as good men always knew it would be, there is only one thing to say as all those good men approach the Throne of Judgment: I was misled.
Cada vida no es sino un breve panfleto escrito por un idiota.
A little bit of grace. That’s what a good dog is, you know. A little bit of grace.
Eddie looks at this, mouth dry, the familiar sensation of suffocation starting to tighten down in his chest like locking bolts.
So let us go then, you and I, while the evening spreads out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a table.
Facing a dangerous man was always a bad business, but at least one could calculate the odds in such an encounter. When you were facing the dead, however, everything changed.
Eddie was all the more delicate because he sometimes suspected he was not delicate at all; Eddie needed to be protected from his own intimations of possible bravery.
There was a momentary added weight in my stomach, almost like a sickness. There’s a name for that sort of sickness. I think it’s called falling in love with your best friend’s girl. “You’ve.