The design of a book is the pattern of a reality controlled and shaped by the mind of a writer.
It is worth while to be kind and generous,” he said. “Not only do such actions pile up a house of joy in Heaven; but there is, too, a quick reward here on earth. One feels a golden warmth glowing like a hot enchilada in one’s stomach.
Where there is little danger, there seems to be little stimulation. Perhaps the pattern of struggle is so deeply imprinted in the genes of all life conceived in this benevolently hostile planet that the removal of obstacles automatically atrophies a survival drive.
In the delicate world of relationships, we are tied together for all time.
A man can do a lot of damage in the church. When someone comes here, he’s got his guard up. But in church a man’s wide open.
Mr. Edwards was essentially a simple man, but even a simple man has complexities which are dark and twisted. Catherine was clever, but even a clever woman misses some of the strange corridors in a man.
Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.
Guys like us are the loneliest in the world. No family. No place where we belong. Nothing to look forward to. We’re different, we have a future. We have someone who gives a damn about us. I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you and that’s why.
They collected souls as they collected jewels.
What have I to fear but starvation?” Kino asked.
The names of places carry a charge of the people who named them.
The essence of pearl mixed with essence of men and a curious dark residue was precipitated.
And I am sure that, as all pendulums reverse their swing, so eventually will the swollen cities rupture like dehiscent wombs and disperse their children back to the countryside.
My son will read and open the books, and my son will write and will know writing. And my son will make numbers, and these things will make us free because he will know – he will know and through him we will know.
I think perhaps I am one of those lucky mortals whose work and whose life are the same thing.
I was afraid I had you in me. No, I haven’t. I’m my own. I don’t have to be you. I just know. It just came to me whole. If I’m mean, it’s my own mean.
She sighed as she always does, a deep, gathered breath and a low release of luxury. Some people resent awakening, but not Mary. She comes to a day with the expectancy that it will be good.
Once Adam had remarked on the quiet splendor of Lee’s clothes, and Lee had grinned at him. “I have to do it,” he said. “One must be very rich to dress as badly as you do. The poor are forced to dress well.
No. I won’t want it ever. I would have been so happy if you could have given me – well, what your brother has – pride in the thing he’s doing, gladness in his progress. Money, even clean money, doesn’t stack up with that.” His eyes widened a little and he said, “Have I made you angry, son? Don’t be angry. If you want to give me a present – give me a good life. That would be something I could value.
Your days are like pages, the chapters unread. You have to keep turning your book has no end.
I want to take everything I’ve seen and thought and learned and reduce them and relate them and refine them until I have something of meaning, something of use. And I can’t seem to do it.