Be a collector of good ideas, but don't trust your memory. The best collecting place for all of the ideas and information that comes your way is your journal.
I’d said it before and meant it: Alive or undead, the love of my life was a badass.
Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else's dream.
Lissa knelt down, compassion on her face. I wasn't surprised, since she'd always had a thing for animals. She'd lectured me for days after I'd instigated the infamous hamster-and-hermit-crab fight. I'd viewed the fight as a testing of worthy opponents. She'd seen it as animal cruelty.
I need you,ʺ said Lissa. ʺI hear that from women a lot,ʺ said Adrian.
You're better than this. Better than whatever it is you're going to do now.
The future is always changing. If we had no choices, there'd be no point in living.
We can regard our life as a uselessly disturbing episode in the blissful repose of nothingness.
Now when you get something like the Apocalypse of John, when this avenging God is going to have blood to the bridle bits for 200 miles, I think that's venous, I don't think that's justice, I don't think that's Jesus, and I don't think it's the God of Jesus. That's the killer God, and the trouble with the killer God is that it justifies us doing the same, and in fact it invites us maybe to start with a bit.
He who fears God has nothing else to fear.
I'm not interested in making money, or being wealthy enough to have a villa in Beverly Hills, because in Paris I don't need that much money.