Nothing is ours except time.
Beyond, the unknown lay before us once more, and another impossible task. The four of us emerged from the earth and turned our steps west, toward the last hope for Salvation.
He'd said the sun could burn me. It certainly looked angry enough, all orange and glowing mad.
There were different kinds of strength. I knew that now. It didn't always come from a knife or a willingness to fight. Sometimes it came from endurance, where the well ran deep and quiet. Sometimes it came from compassion and forgiveness.
I never belonged anywhere until I met you.
He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
Have you ever watched a child learning to walk? Before this week, I never had, but there's a certain grace to it. Well, if not grace, then tenacity. Fall down nine times--get up ten. And the tenth time you get where you're going, you don't stop, not for obstacles, not for other people telling you to stop. You don't listen to anything but that inner voice until you arrive where you want to be.
When one speaks of humanity, the idea is fundamental that this is something which separates and distinguishes man from nature. In reality, however, there is no such separation: "natural" qualities and those called truly "human" are inseparably grown together. Man, in his highest and noblest capacities, is wholly nature and embodies its uncanny dual character. Those of his abilities which are terrifying and considered inhuman may even be the fertile soil out of which alone all humanity can grow in impulse, deed, and work.
I'm not the new kid on the block anymore. Writers always use the phrase "aging rocker," and I'm like, "What other option do I have?" You're either aging or you're dead.
It's cool that you found somebody that you trust.
The creative person should have no other biography than his works.