The human world is made of stories, not people. The people the stories use to tell themselves are not to be blamed
over 85% of all statistics are made up on the spot.
Do," said Louisa finally, "whatever you can't not do.
Memories are their own descendents masquerading as the ancestors of the present.
Leaves turned to soil beneath my feet. Thus it is, trees eat themselves.
Don't bemoan your misspent life quite yet. Forgive me for flaunting my experience, but you have no conception of what a misspent life constitutes.
Assured her I've never loved anyone except myself and have no intention of starting now.
Wars are never cured, they just go into remission for a few years.
A weapon men use against women is the refusal to take them seriously.
Folks with most to complain about seldom complain most.
The world never stops unmaking what the world never stops making. But who says the world has to make sense?
People pontificate, "Suicide is selfishness." Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call in a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reason: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one's audience with one's mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it - suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what's selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.
Eva. Every day I've climbed up the belfry chanting a lucky chant at one syllable per beat, "To-day-to-day-let-her-be-here-to-day-to-day.
I remain thankful to God for all his mercies.
If we believe that humanity may transcend tooth and claw, if we believe divers races & creeds can share this world as peaceably as the orphans share their candlenut tree, if we believe leaders must be just, violence muzzled, power accountable & the riches of the Earth & its Oceans shared equitably, such a world will come to pass.
Implausible truth can serve one better than plausible fiction
It'll be all right." Julia's gentleness makes it worse. "In the end, Jace." "It doesn't feel very all right." "That's because it's not the end.
I added 'writers' to my list of people not to trust. They make everything up.
I can't bear living in this huge beautiful world and not try to imitate it as best I can.
... but it is attitude, not years, that condemns one to the ranks of the Undead, or else proffers salvation. In the domain of the young there dwells many an Undead soul. They rush about so, their inner putrefaction is concealed for a few decades, that is all.
The most malicious god is the god of the counted chicken.
Yay, Old'uns' Smart mastered sicks, miles, seeds an' made miracles ord'nary, but it din't master one thing, nay, a hunger in the hearts o' humans, yay, a hunger for more.
I feel like something important has happened to me. Is this possible?
Human hunger birthed the Civlize, but human hunger killed it too.
There's a link between bigotry and bad spelling.
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