Christ never preached any funeral sermons.
That's how you know you really trust someone, I think; when you don't have to talk all the time to make sure they still like you or prove that you have interesting stuff to say.
. . . There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. . . Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.
Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound.
The kind of life I want is to be a person who would get a personal note every day.
he's a story i want to know from page one
That's how life feels to me. Everyone is doing it; everyone knows how. To live and be who they are and find a place, find a moment. I'm still waiting.
Pretension may sit still, but cannot act. Pretension never feigned an act of real greatness. Pretension never wrote an Iliad, nordrove back Xerxes, nor christianized the world, nor abolished slavery.
There lies within each person a huge reservoir of untapped potential for achievement, success, happiness, health and greater prosperity. It's like an ocean unsailed, a new continent unexplored, a world of possibilities waiting to be released and channelled toward some great good.
I looked up at Ellen and her not-glowing pentagram. "Harm none is the rule, Ellen: bad witch, no cookie.
Nobody becomes guilty by fate.