Certain things, certain events, seem inexplicable only for a time: up to the moment when the veil is torn aside.
Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death.
Sometimes being a good mother gets in the way of being a good person.
We are all so much more complicated than we allow ourselves to appear.
Whenever life gets to be too much for me, I have a hard time keeping my eyes open. Sleeping is cheaper and safer than drinking. It keeps you from saying or doing things you'll regret later, and though you may have nightmares, you won't wake up with a hangover. I recommend it wholeheartedly.
There is nothing like champagne to ensure sweet dreams.
Sometimes I think it is. . . frustration with life as it is lived day to day that compels me to write such long letters to people who seldom reply in kind, if indeed they reply at all. Somehow by compressing and editing the events of my life, I infuse them with a dramatic intensity totally lacking at the time, but oddly enough I find that years later what I remember is not the event as I lived it but as I described it in a letter.
Wait a minute. What did you just say? You're predicting $4-a-gallon gas?. . . That's interesting. I hadn't heard that.
It was the sheer variety of the pain that stopped me from crying out. It came from so many places, spoke so many languages, wore so many dazzling varieties of ethnic costume, that for a full fifteen seconds I could only hang my jaw in amazement.
I come from Cuba. Taxes for me are no big thing.
If you are truly present and know how to take care of the present moment as best you can, you are doing your best for the future already.