Men are the dreams of a shadow.
It’s called mind over matter. If we don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. ” When a bit of me hurts, I always mind.
The great thing about a short story is that it doesn't have to trawl through someone's whole life; it can come in glancingly from the side.
There are some tales not for telling, whether because they are too long, too precious, too laughable, too painful, too easy to need telling or too hard to explain. After all, after years and travels my secrets are all I have left to chew on in the night.
Ma's still nodding. "You're the one who matters, though. Just you. " I shake my head till it's wobbling because there's no just me.
Writing is nearly always a matter of finding whatever your brain needs to trick it into being creative, and in my case, a tiny little bit of fact just seems to work.
In the world I notice persons are nearly always stressed and have no time. . . I don't know how persons with jobs do the jobs and all the living as well. . . I guess the time gets spread very thin like butter all over the world, the roads and houses and playgrounds and stores, so there's only a little smear of time on each place, then everyone has to hurry on to the next bit.
There were so many candidates on the platform that there were not enough promises to go around.
According to the Bible, a genuine answer to prayer is getting what you ask for.
The ascendancy over men's minds of the ruins of the stupendous past, the past of history, legend and myth, at once factual and fantastic, stretching back and back into ages that can but be surmised, is half-mystical in basis. The intoxication, at once so heady and so devout, is not the romantic melancholy engendered by broken towers and mouldered stones; it is the soaring of the imagination into the high empyrean where huge episodes are tangled with myths and dreams; it is the stunning impact of world history on its amazed heirs.
He prays because he knows he doesn't control it. He's at the mercy of it.