Life

Zoe stopped one last time in front of the mirror, adjusting her new American dress. She didn’t see the dress, however. She saw what the big Russian did to her. She saw what al-Qaeda did to her. She saw a person shunned by her Persian village. She saw ugliness. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw deficiency.

See you on the other side of the screen, if you make it, earnest cyberspace cadet.

I have a big hole in my heart,' I said. 'But it'll close over.'I don't want to sound all Dr. Phil,' she said. 'But don't let the scab seal the pain in, okay?'That's good advice,' I said. 'I hope I can manage it.

You will never truly realize the value of life until you take your very last breath.

I make no apologies for you. After all, each one of us is little more than the meager residue of the infinite unrealized possibilities of our lives.

All providences are doors to trial. Men may be drowned in seas of prosperity as well as in rivers of affliction.

Music is a writer's heartbeat.

It was chance. A random series of events given meaning by somone desperate to prove there's a design to our lives. That the minutes and hours between our birth and death are ore than frantic moments of chaos. Because if that's all they are - if there are no rules governing our lives - then our entire existence is a meaningless farce.

The limitless, lowering sky, the long stretches of motionless empty prairie, the silence, complete right down to the absence of birdsong -- who knows what decides a man to leave most of his words unspoken?

Doobie always wanted to see the badge. It was shiny, and he was eight.

Only memories have a future.

I'm not just a big-haired redhead country singer who dresses flamboyantly, has this wicked sense of humor and wears rhinestones.

A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard.

We are only as alive as the things that keep us alive.

Darkness approaches from outside.I feel no light inside me strong enough to resist it.

She stopped then and turned her face toward him and the hateful wind.

All stories are ultimately about the fall.

How strange and ironic it is- all the words I long to sayare lost in words.

To be so lonelyyou told yourself you liked to be this way& almost believed it was true.

Here at the edges, in the cracks and at the crossroads, stepping from shadow to shadow in the river of darkness that runs through the heart of Wink, he feels much more at home.