A poet is a musician who can’t sing.
Generalmente, el miedo proviene de la ignorancia.
What would you like in trade? An answer, a favor, a secret?” – Bast.
You looked too hard and didn’t see enough. Too much looking can get in the way of seeing, you see?
If I had my choice again, I would only change how fast I ran.
When you wait a few span or month to hear a finished song, the anticipation adds savor. But after a year excitement begins to sour. By now, a year and a half had passed and folk were almost mad with curiosity.
Some small rational part of me realized I was in deep shock. It repeated the fact to me again and again. I did not want to think of what I saw. I did not want to know what had happened here. I did not want to know what any of this meant.
If you have never been desperately poor, I doubt you can understand the relief I felt. For months I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing that any small catastrophe could ruin me. But now I no longer had to live every day worrying about my next term’s tuition or the interest on Devi’s loan. I was no longer in danger of being forced out of the University.
I was so deeply in the music that I couldn’t have told you where it stopped and my blood began.
I can tell the whole thing in one breath. I trouped, traveled, loved, lost, trusted and was betrayed.
Believe it with a faith that will move mountains and shake trees.
Have you ever been annoyed and amused with yourself at the same time? It’s an interesting feeling, to say the very least.
I don’t remember starting out that morning, but I do remember trying to sleep and feeling quite alone except for a dull, bittersweet ache.
A silent bell that struck out love.
Si pretendes imponerle tu voluntad al mundo, debes controlar tu capacidad de creer.
Still there are worse things than playing in the rain.
No, no me molesta que me lo preguntes – repuso el anciano –. Siempre que a ti no te moleste que no te conteste.
He finally found what he was looking for, holding up a pair of shoes similar to the pair I wore. “Here we go. These were my Jacob’s when he was your age.” He sat on his stool and unlaced the pair of shoes I was wearing. “Now you,” he continued, “have old soles for a boy so young: scars, calluses. Feet like these could run barefoot all day on stone and not need shoes. A boy your age only gets these feet one way.” He looked up at me, making it a question. I nodded.
If you want to know the truth of who you are, walk until not a person knows your name. Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror-glass.
Let me say this. It was worth the whole awful, irritating time spent searching the Archives just to watch that moment happen. It was worth blood and the fear of death to see her fall in love with him. Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love, so light she probably didn’t notice it herself.
She walked with the most subtle, solid confidence I have ever seen, as if she knew she ought to swagger, but couldn’t quite be bothered.