Trust one who has tried.
A whole tree of lightning stood in the sky. She kept looking out the window, suffused with the warmth from the fire and with the pity and beauty and power of her death. The thunder rolled.
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.
All you can do is play how you know how to play.
I'm enough of an anarchist aesthetically, when it comes to art - I want people to be reading my stuff voluntarily. They should be doing it because they want to.
The government favors the most diplomatic language. That's why any letter to them should always start with, "Dear turkeys and foul maggots. . . "
Open your hearts to the love God instills. . . God loves you tenderly. What He gives you is not to be kept under lock and key, but to be shared.