But you make me happy. It's living up to being happy that's the difficult part.
But you make me happy. It's living up to being happy that's the difficult part.
I never wanted to have anything in my life that I couldn't stand losing. But it's too late for that.
Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element.
The space that I can call mine.. is so small that my ideas have become small. I am like a caterpillar in a cocoon of paper; all around me are sketches for sculptures, small drawings that seem like moths fluttering against the windows, beating their wings to escape from this tiny space.. Every day the ideas come more reluctantly, as though they know I will starve them and stunt their growth.
Clare seems so pleased with the idea of me as a pirate that she forgets that I am Stranger Danger.
I now have an erection that is probably tall enough to ride some of the scarier rides at Great America without a parent.
Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me; maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other.
There is only one page left to write on. I will fill it with words of only one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.
CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble.
I place my hands over her ears and tip her head back, and kiss her, and try to put my heart into hers, for safekeeping, in case I lose it again.
Mom had just gotten back from Sydney, and she had brought me an immense, surpassingly blue butterfly, Papilio ulysses, mounted in a frame filled with cotton. I would hold it close to my face, so close I couldn't see anything but that blue. It would fill me with a feeling, a feeling I later tried to duplicate with alcohol and finally found again with Clare, a feeling of unity, oblivion, mindlessness in the best sense of the word.
There's always world enough and time.
Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?
I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories standing out.
My reflection in the mirror shows me pink and puffy. I thought pregnant women were to supposed to glow. I am not glowing.
Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.
He made the boxes because he was lonely. He didn't have anyone to love, and he made the boxes so he could love them, and so people would know that he existed, and because birds are free and the boxes are hiding places for the birds so they will feel safe, and he wanted to be free and be safe. The boxes are for him so he can be a bird.
I sometimes end up in dangerous situations, and I come back to you broken and messed up, and you worry about me when I'm gone. It's like marrying a policeman.
Outside it's a perfect spring night. We stand on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building, and Henry takes my hand, and I look at him, and I raise our joined hands and Henry twirls me around and soon we're dancing down Belle Plaine Avenue, no music but the sound of cars whoosing by and our own laughter, and the smell of cherry blossoms that fall like snow on the sidewalk as we dance underneath the tress.
Time is priceless, but it's Free. You can't own it, you can use it. You can spend it. But you can't keep it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back.
Henry loves my hair almost as though it is a creature unto itself, as though it has a soul to call its own, as though it could love him back.
I still feel like a castaway, th elast of a once numerous species. It was as though Robinson Crusoe discovered the telltale footprint on the beach and then realized that it was his own. Myself, small as a leaf, thin as water, begins to cry.
Part of me wants to turn him into hamburger and part of me doesn't want to beat up somebody who's taped to a tree.
To lose one child, Mr. DeTamble, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose three looks like carelessness.
I breathe slowly and deeply. I make my eyes still under eyelids, I make my mind still, and soon, Sleep, seeing a perfect reproduction of himself, comes to be united with his facsimile.
I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room
Roy is my favorite security guy. He's a huge African-American gentleman who always has a beautiful smile on his face. He's the King of the Main Desk, and I'm always glad to arrive at work and bask in his magnificent good cheer.
Very few people meet their soulmates at age six. So you gotta pass the time somehow. And Ingrid was very - patient. Overly patient. Willing to put up with odd behavior, in the hope that someday I would shape up and marry her martyred ass. And when somebody is that patient, you have to feel grateful, and then you want to hurt them. Does that make any sense?
I feel moderately bad about this whole thing. On the one hand, I am providing myself with urgently required survival skills. Other lessons in this series include Shoplifting, Beating People Up, Picking Locks, Climbing Trees, Driving, Housebreaking, Dumpster Diving, and How to Use Oddball Things like Venetian Blinds and Garbage Can Lids as Weapons. On the other hand, I'm corrupting my poor innocent little self. I sigh. Somebody's got to do it.
I told Ing once that she dances like a German and she didn't like it, but it's true: she dances seriously, like lives are hanging in the balance, like precision dancing can save the starving children of India.
Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.
We are often insane with happiness. We are also very unhappy for reasons neither of us can do anything about. Like being separated.
I feel that I an everything to her.
I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always.
Sometimes I am glad when Henry's gone, but I am always glad when he come's back
Why is love intensified by absence?
I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by abscence?
I won't ever leave you, even though you're always leaving me.
Sometimes I'm happy when he's gone, but I'm always happy when he returns. -Clare
You can still be cool when you're dead. In fact, it's much easier, because you aren't getting old and fat and losing your hair.
I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble
I'm living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.
That's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.
I have a sort of Christmas-morning sense of the library as a big box full of beautiful books.
I'm sorry. I didn't know you were coming or I'd have cleaned up a little more. My life, I mean, not just the apartment.
The choices we're working with here are a block universe, where past, present and future all coexist simultaneously and everything has already happened; chaos, where anything can happen and nothing can be predicted because we can't know all the variables; and a Christian universe in which God made everything and it's all here for a purpose but we have free will anyway.
I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved
It's dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.
The cure might be worse than the problem
I love you, always. Time is nothing.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories