I like the story about Henry David Thoreau, who, when he was on his death bed, his family sent for a minister. The minister said, 'Henry, have you made your peace with God?' Thoreau said, 'I didn't know we'd quarreled.
. . . she read with undifferentiated glee. . .
If at the one moment in your life when the chance of something transcendental is offered to you, if you have this chance to move beyond the surface of things, to understand - and you say, No, maybe not. . . What then? How do you explain the rest of your life to yourself? How do you pass the time until you die? Do you substitute for that an interest in what - eating? Do you spend the next sixty years trying to be fascinated by the act of breathing?
I suppose that each of us may have a great moment in our life, a month, a week a year, when we are most fully what we are meant to be
Depression - that limp word for the storm of black panic and half-demented malfunction - had over the years worked itself out in Charlotte's life in a curious pattern. Its onset was often imperceptible: like an assiduous housekeeper locking up a rambling mansion, it noiselessly went about and turned off, one by one, the mind's thousand small accesses to pleasure.
Lonely's like any other organism; competitive and resourceful in the struggle to perpetuate itself.
Something had been buried that was not yet dead.
Sometimes the characters I find the most compelling are in independent movies. With independent scripts people can take more challenges.
i am a limitless series of natural disasters and all of these disasters have been unnaturally repressed.
I've never been convinced that the sun would come up without me barking.
Silicon Valley wouldn't exist without massive government spending and in fact initiative.