. . . and he extends and grows even bigger than he is. (on Peter Schmeichel)
Never think you've seen the last of anything.
The excursion is the same when you go looking for your sorrow as when you go looking for your joy.
Human life is fiction's only theme.
One place understood helps us understand all places better
People are mostly layers of violence and tenderness wrapped like bulbs, and it is difficult to say what makes them onions or hyacinths.
It had been startling and disappointing to me to find out that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass. Yet regardless of where they come from, I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with them - with the books themselves, cover and binding and the paper they were printed on, with their smell and their weight and with their possession in my arms, captured and carried off to myself. Still illiterate, I was ready for them, committed to all the reading I could give them.
The words are the words. Seriously. Meaning you don't have boo-boo words. You can do boo-boo things. You can have sex, carnage, mayhem, whatever you're looking for. "The Evil Dead" movies, in my opinion, function better in an unrestricted world.
Knowing that language has done so much, we want to believe that it can do everything.
It may be something that future generations are more open to, but I am pretty confident that for the foreseeable future, using the argument of nondiscrimination, and "Let's get it right for the kids who are here right now," and giving them the best chance possible, is going to be a more persuasive argument.
There are those much more rare people who never lose their curiosity, their almost childlike wonder at the world; those people who continue to learn and to grow intellectually until the day they die. And these usually are the people who make contributions, who leave some part of the world a little better off than it was before they entered it.