It's a time of sorrow and sadness when we lose a loss of life.
There’s something brittle in me that will break before it bends.
Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you'll find an edge to cut you.
We die a little every day and by degrees we’re reborn into different men, older men in the same clothes, with the same scars.
Let's go to Valhalla with the sun on our faces.
Few things worth having can be got easily.
Some truths should perhaps be left unsaid. Some doors unopened. An angel once told me to let go of the ills I held too close, to let go of the flaws that shaped me.
Bird in hand makes it harder to blow nose.
Complexity excites the mind, and order rewards it. In the garden, one finds both, including vanishingly small orders too complex to spot, and orders so vast the mind struggles to embrace them.
You get social pressure from your parents, who teach you to pay attention to certain things and not to others. You get it in school.
I'd learned enough from life's experiences to understand that destiny's interventions can sometimes be read as invitation for us to address and even surmount our biggest fears. It doesn't take a great genius to recognize that when you are pushed by circumstance to do the one thing you have always most specifically loathed and feared, this can be, at the very least, an interesting growth opportunity.