As long as I'm acting and doing what I love, I'll be happy.
The smooth stones you pick up and examine under the moon's light have been made blue from the sea. Next morning when you pull them from your trouser pocket, they are still blue.
there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.
And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.
Life and death matters, yes. And the question of how to behave in this world, how to go in the face of everything. Time is short and the water is rising.
If we're lucky, writer and reader alike, we'll finish the last line or two of a short story and then just sit for a minute, quietly. Ideally, we'll ponder what we've just written or read; maybe our hearts or intellects will have been moved off the peg just a little from where they were before. Our body temperature will have gone up, or down, by a degree. Then, breathing evenly and steadily once more, we'll collect ourselves, writers and readers alike, get up, "created of warm blood and nerves" as a Chekhov character puts it, and go on to the next thing: Life. Always life.
That's all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.
He let you have the pants anyway?" she asked. I had started talking about Maxon as soon as I could, eager to know how their conversation had gone. "Yeah. He was very generous about it all. " "I think it's charming that he's a good winner. " "He is a good winner. He's even gracious when he's gotten the raw end of things. " Like a knee to the royal jewels, for example.
I'm not good with children," the god confessed. "Or people. Well, any organic life forms, really.
The all-embracing vast being which is there behind the play of the universe and with which you will have to identify yourself - for this is your true self.
A very little little let us do And all is done.