True in the game, as long as blood is blue in my veins I pour my Heineken brew to my deceased crew on memory lane
You can only chase a butterfly for so long.
But as the scissors snip-snapped through her hair and the razor shaved the rest, she realized with a sudden awful panic that she could no longer recall anything from the past. I cannot remember, she whispered to herself. I cannot remember. She's been shorn of memory as brutally as she'd been shorn of her hair, without permission, without reason. . . Gone, all gone, she thought again wildly, no longer even sure what was gone, what she was mourning.
Intuition works best when you remember that “tuition” is part of it. You need to have paid ahead of time (ie done your prep work) so as to prepare the ground for intuition.
Fiction cannot recite the numbing numbers, but it can be that witness, that memory. A storyteller can attempt to tell the human tale, can make a galaxy out of the chaos, can point to the fact that some people survived even as most people died. And can remind us that the swallows still sing around the smokestacks.
Know, my son, that the enemy will always be with you. He will be in the shadow of your dreams and in your living flesh, for he is the other part of yourself.
Write, write, and write some more. Think of writing as a muscle that needs lots of exercise.
I've never seen a truly great fighter get knocked onto the ropes unconscious. . . knocked out cold before. . . and I saw Roy Jones get knocked out twice in a row.
You've done what?" "I know," he said. "You're impressed. You send me out for bread and I come back with a boy. Well, not literally. That would be weird. Even for me.
Rule 1: When all else fails, follow instructions. And Rule 2: Don't be an asshole.
If I had not kissed anyone, or danced with anyone, or had a reason to cry, the music made me feel as if I had gone through all that anyway.