Hell was a living place inside every membrane of flesh that temporarily passed itself off as human.
Small towns are like metronomes; with the slightest flick, the beat changes.
When someone is in your heart, they're never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.
We need to forgive ourselves. For all the things we didn't do. All the things we should have done. You can't get stuck on the regrets of what should have happened.
Have you found someone to share your heart with? Are you giving to your community? Are you at peace with yourself? Are you trying to be as human as you can be?
Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them - a mother's approval, a father's nod - are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.
The proper reply to right wing religiosity is not to insist that politics and religion don't mix. This is the stock response of the left.
As many as are the difficulties which Virtue has to encounter in this world, her force is yet superior.
I do lots of other drugs but I smoke pot maybe 5-10 times a year now. I used to smoke it all the time, but I don't, and I haven't for awhile. That's just because it makes me - and I'm not saying this about everybody else - but it makes me kind of dumb and self-conscious.
The true work of art is the one which the seventh wave of genius throws up the beach where the undertow of time cannot drag it back.