Life

Not giving him booze, are you? He's a little young for it.

How the past perishes is how the future becomes.

Time is not a line but a series of now-points.

I don't want to be a passenger in my own life.

Books, for me, are a home. Books don't make a home - they are one, in the sense that just as you do with a door, you open a book, and you go inside. Inside there is a different kind of time and space. There is warmth there too - a hearth. I sit down with a book and I am warm.

Seen like that, he was just a shadow; darkness, a nothingness, before real power. The men of this world, epics included, would pass from time. I might be a worm to him, but he was a worm himself in the grand scheme of the universe.

Life is the gift of being able to do something, so use it.

Personally, I like to sleep. And I intend to appropriately confine myself more and more to my living quarters and pass my life away sleeping.

Letting go. Everyone talks about it like it's the easiest thing. Unfurl your fingers one by one until your hand is open. But my hand has been clenched into a fist for three years now.

And I tell her about his description because I want her to know what I now know, which is that the place where the pepper grows is not a place to be afraid of…I tell her: Mama, exile is not always the darkest corner of the earth. Sometimes it is lush and plentiful, sometimes it is full of life….

Life is about discovering your passion and creating a fire to burn inside of you. Let your passion drive you!

I think you can totally be a totally normal kid from the suburbs of Chicago and go off and play shows. It's one of those things that when you go home, you're still the nerd you were when you left, and your parents still get to yell at you about cleaning up your room, and your girlfriend still drags you to the pet store.

If our greatest fear is to sink away alone and unremembered, the brutality that time will inflict upon each of us will always run stronger than any river's murky waves.

If life, you get what you believe you deserve.

You flourish one hushed breath at a time. Imagine all you can build word by single word.

Stripping her of her name had been almost as satisfying as removing her dress.

Everything in life had a purpose, and unless it achieved that purpose, it was just taking up space on the planet and wasting everybody's time.

One was never married, and that's his hell; another is, and that's his plague.

Strange - is it not? - that of the myriads who Before us passed the door of Darkness through Not one returns to tell us of the road Which to discover we must travel too.

Everyone expects to go further than his father went everyone expects to be better than he was born and every generation has one big impulse in its heart-to exceed all the other generations of the past in all the things that make life worth living.