It’s the highest art form, deceiving without lying. A word is the only thing in the world made more powerful by absence than existence.
I love you the way a drowning man loves air. And it would destroy me to have you just a little.
I think sometimes when we find love we pretend it away, or ignore it, or tell ourselves we’re imagining it. Because it is the most painful kind of hope there is.
I know you hate me. But don’t let that make you stupid.
From the mouths of the innocents flows truth.
I don’t care if it’s Twilight or Fifty Shades or War and Peace – Never let someone make you ashamed of what you love to read!
I lie awake for a long time, wondering which would be more foolish, to prepare for something that may never happen, or not to prepare for something that might.
The mind of God is a mystery and none can understand it.
A word is the only thing in the world made more powerful by absence than existence.
Given a choice between my life and yours, I will choose mine. Every time. Without hesitation.
No, no.” I motion vaguely. “Relax. Don’t look so... guardlike.” They drop formation at once, glancing at one another shamefaced. Hector draped an arm around my shoulder as if we were out for a companionable stroll. He leans down and says, “So. Horrible heat we’ve been having lately.
Walking away from my desert companions feels like cutting off a limb. How does one say good-bye to an arm? One doesn’t, I suppose. One pretends it isn’t happening.
I loved and lost and survived.
But none of it will be real. None of them will want me. My throne, yes. Prestige. A conquest. But not me. page 221.
It’s nice to consider that God may not count imperfection as an obstacle to working out his will in the world.
My brother Felix used to say that my knives would never be as sharp as my tongue, which was a shame.
I wake to sunshine flashing on puddled water, to dirty clumps of hail melting in the shadowed lees of boulders, to rock wrens singing like it’s the best day of their lives.
Maybe a large, single dose of pain now is better than the slow, burning pain of withering hope.
Reading can only take you so far, up to the moment where you must take action with your own hands.