Life

Brock sighed. “Alright then, Spunky. I was thinking about life, I guess.” Spunky grunted. “In other words, you were thinking about a woman.” “I didn't say that—” “No.” Spunky grinned knowingly. “But your face did.

Memories are strange things. Withough being something I can hold in my hand, they wield a beguiling power over me. Like a mirage in the noontime heat of summer, they dance before my inner eyes and beckon me to find water where there is not water.

Terry loved candlelight dinners and red wine. It was a nice contrast from work.And killing people.

Rhianon, he said, hold my hand, Rhianon.She did not hear him, but stood over his bed and fixed him with an unbroken sorrow.Hold my hand, he said, and then: why are your putting the sheet over my face?

I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.' I should think so — in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!

...All without any more sound than flipping over a playing card. And sitting in this limo, compared to my fifteen-year-old Volkswagen Beetle I'd bought off a friend, was as quiet as sitting at the bottom of a lake wearing earplugs.

Bare essentials. Like packing for paradise when you know you’re boarding the barge to hell.

She's got a big belt around her hips. It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.

Just because those around you do not constantly tell you what they are going through in their personal life, it does not mean they are living in a fairytale.

This is stolen? We're in a stolen jet?'Not stolen,' said Donegan Bane from the co-pilot's seat.'Almost stolen,' Gracious corrected.'Semi-stolen,' said Donegan.'Quasi-stolen,' said Gracious. Aurora's frown did not turn upside down. 'So is it stolen or not?'Donegan and Gracious hesitated.'Yes,' they both said together.

At high school, instead of the weekly essay, I would write a poem, and the teacher accepted that. The impulse was one of laziness, I'm certain. Poems were shorter than essays.

There is an implicit recognition here that important things in life are not always immediately visible, and can't always be named, or even fully understood. Others still are entirely imaginary -- like a red tree growing suddenly in a room -- although this does not make them any less real.

We move between two darknesses.

I don't know what happens after we die. It doesn't seem to me like there can be much past this. But I suppose I can conceive that what we make and do can last beyond us. Maybe in a different place, on another plane.

It doesn’t matter who is in control of the country, people will continue to break the law and reap the consequences.

Your soul is a paradise. Where gods fell in love with the demons. Where darkness and light fought, for each other's place creating an unending chaos. You are the beginning of everything, that my mind failed to incarnate.

The little weasel ripped all the buttons off my couch.Ivan Petrovsky, pg 350.

I've learned it does not do well to dwell on the past. You cannot change it. You can revisit it, you can remember it, but it simply will not change!

What a lovely display of personhood. He's like a good book cover that grabs your gaze. Read me. I'm fun but smart. You won't be able to put me down.

Put off thy cares with thy clothes; so shall thy rest strengthen thy labor, and so thy labor sweeten thy rest.