You think you're being given all of these things: phones that can communicate with other devices, car service … - Neil Gaiman

Same topic Authors

Quote of the day

I think Miss Moore was right to cut "The Steeple-Jack" the poem seems plainer and clearer in its shortened state but she has cut too much. . . The reader may feel like saying, "Let her do as she pleases with the poem; it's hers, isn't it?" No; it's much too good a poem for that, it long ago became everybody's, and we can protest just as we could if Donatello cut off David's left leg.

Neil Gaiman

You think you're being given all of these things: phones that can communicate with other devices, car service that's better than a taxi, all of these amazing things that are available to you at any time. It isn't until you've swum across the river that you can start to see the negative aspects of it all.

Available, Car, Communicate, Given, Negative, Thinking

Same Author Quotes

Perfection is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving.

Chasing, Like, Moving, Perfection, Writing

Dahling, when God put teeth in your mouth, he ruined a perfectly good arsehole.

Arseholes, God, Mouth, Perfectly, Perfectly Good, Teeth

Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. Truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.

Age, Like, Looks, Thoughtless, Whole, World

In a world where people die every day, I think the important thing to remember is that for each moment of sorrow we get when people leave this world there's a corresponding moment of joy when a new baby comes into this world. That first wail is-well, it's magic, isn't it? Perhaps it's a hard thing to say, but joy and sorrow are like milk and cookies. That's how well they go together. I think we should all take a moment to meditate on that.

Baby, Die, People, Sorrow, Thinking

I watched my life as if it were happening to someone else. My son died. And I was hurt, but I watched my hurt, and even relished it, a little, for now I could write a real death, a true loss. My heart was broken by my dark lady, and I wept, in my room, alone; but while I wept, somewhere inside I smiled.

Broken, Death, Hurt, Real, Write, Writing