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Quote of the day
“Give me the fruitful error any time, full of seeds, bursting with its own corrections. You can keep your sterile truth for yourself.”
Quote of the week
“This was the last time I ever saw my mother alive. Just the same, this picture gets all mixed up in my mind with pictures I had of her when she was younger. The way I always see her is the way she used to be on Sunday afternoon, say, when the old folks were talking after the big Sunday dinner. I always see her wearing pale blue. She'd be sitting on the sofa. And my father would be sitting in the easy chair, not far from her. And the living room would be full of church folks and relatives. There they sit, in chairs all around the living room, and the night is creeping up outside, but nobody knows it yet. You can see the darkness growing against the windowpanes and you hear the street noises every now and again, or maybe the jangling beat of a tambourine from one of the churches close by, but it's real quiet in the room. For a moment nobody's talking, but every face looks darkening, like the sky outside. And my mother rocks a little from the waist, and my father's eyes are closed. Everyone is looking at something a child can't see. For a minute they've forgotten the children. Maybe a kid is lying on the rug, half asleep. Maybe somebody's got a kid in his lap and is absent-mindedly stroking the kid's head. Maybe there's a kid, quiet and big-eyed, curled up in a big chair in the corner. The silence, the darkness coming, and the darkness in the faces frighten the child obscurely. He hopes that the hand which strokes his forehead will never stop-- will never die. He hopes that there will never come a time when the old folks won't be sitting around the living room, talking about where they've come from, and what they've seen, and what's happened to them and their kinfolk.But something deep and watchful in the child knows that this is bound to end, is already ending. In a moment someone will get up and turn on the light. Then the old folks will remember the children and they won't talk anymore that day. And when light fills the room, the child is filled with darkness. He knows that every time this happens he's moved just a little closer to that darkness outside. The darkness outside is what the old folks have been talking about. It's what they've come from. It's what they endure. The child knows that they won't talk anymore because if he knows too much about what's happened to them, he'll know too much too soon, about what's going to happen to him.”
Quote of the month
“Paradise is where I am”
Latest quotes
“And as we should all know by now, anytime you predict failure you have an excellent chance of being right.”
“It's a horrible thing to have your body fail you. You never think about it when you're young.”
“I love you," I said, our lips brushing. "I love you so very much.”
“You see, as kids, my friends and I assumed we'd grow up to become like our heroes--that someday, like them, we'd do great things, make a difference in teh nonsensical world that belonged to adults. Now, watching Space PAtrol crew resist Agent X, the kid who dreamed of living heroically snaps out of a long, deep sleep. It's like awakening in the middle of the night--or in midlife-- remembering something you forgot to do. Something very important.”
“I would have chatted with Tempi, but trying to have a conversation with him was like playing catch with a well.”
“A certain bone-deep understanding occurred and my hand tightened around the smaller one I held. It weren't stars we were staring at. The sky was falling.”
“The painters could be identified by dirty fingernails; the writers by conversation in labored monosyllables and aggressive vulgarities which disguised their minds.”
“As close as you’re riding me, man, I feel like I need to take you out to dinner or something. At least, I should get your name.” He punched in a floor number, smirking.“People call me Archer.”
“Cuando alguien está loco, puede hacer lo que de verdad le viene en gana. (Idril)”
“The telephone to Shadow's apartment was silent and dead. He thought about getting it connected, but could think of no one he wanted to call. Late one night he picked it up and listened, and was convinced he could hear a wind blowing and a distant conversation between a group of people talking in voiced too low to properly make out. He said, "hello?" and "who's there?" but there was no reply, only a sudden silence and then the faraway sound of laughter, so faint he was not certain he was not imagining it.”