In war is it who's right, or who's left?
I don't fall in love anymore. Just like I don't get the mumps.
The knives in my apartment are only sharp enough to open envelopes with. Cutting a slice of coarse bread is on the borderline of their ability. I don't need anything sharper. Otherwise, on bad days, it might easily occur to me that I could always go stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror and slit my throat. On such occasions it's nice to have the added security of needing to go downstairs and borrow a decent knife from a neighbor.
Confronted with people who have power, and who enjoy using it, I turn into a different person, a baser and meaner one.
The problem with anger against God is that it's impossible to go higher in the system to complain.
Maybe it's wrong when we remember breakthroughs to our own being as something that occurs in discrete, extraordinary moments. Maybe falling in love, the piercing knowledge that we ourselves will someday die, and the love of snow are in reality not some sudden events; maybe they were always present. Maybe they never completely vanish, either.
She was transparent, like a watercolor. As if she were about to dissolve in sound, in tones not yet created.
Now begin in the middle, and later learn the beginning; the end will take care of itself.
It's never been true, not anywhere at any time, that the value of a soul, of a human spirit, is dependent on a number on a scale. We are unrepeatable beings of light and space and water who need these physical vehicles to get around. When we start defining ourselves by that which can be measured or weighed, something deep within us rebels. We don't want to EAT hot fudge sundaes as much as we want our lives to BE hot fudge sundaes. We want to come home to ourselves.
Designing a product and understanding how it filters through into the market and into the rest of the company is very important to me.
If you fall in love with someone gay and you're the opposite gender, it's not going to work.