Every time we burn a gallon of gas or an acre of rain forest, aren't we killing the future to preserve the present?
Every time we burn a gallon of gas or an acre of rain forest, aren't we killing the future to preserve the present?
I'm not so much a good friend as I'm the savior who wants you to worship him forever.
That if you could acquire enough, accomplish enough, you'd never want to own or do another thing. That if you could eat or sleep enough, you'd never need more. That if enough people loved you, you'd stop needing love.
Those who can forget the past are way ahead of the rest of us.
Because everything up to now is a story and everything after now is a story.
Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need.
I see the strongest and the smartest men who have ever lived... and these men are pumping gas and waiting tables.
Never, ever say the dildo accidentally turned itself on.
The girl who lives in 8G used to be a lovely charming girl, but the girl is a monster bitch monster. The girl is infectious human waste, and she's confused and afraid to commit to the wrong thing so she won't commit to anything.
Tyler's words coming out of my mouth. I used to be such a nice person.
And if you can find any way out of our culture, then that's a trap too. Just wanting to get out of the trap reinforces the trap.
I'm not straight, and I'm not gay. I'm not bisexual. I want out of the labels. I don't want my whole life crammed into a single word. A story. I want to find something else, unknowable, some place to be that's not on the map. A real adventure.
So maybe I'll spend some years in prison, but you'll have a big head start on me in hell!
You can say anything if enough people will listen.
History is nothing except monsters or victims. Or witnesses.
We'll never be as young as we are tonight.
Not that IÆm crazy or anything, I just want some proof that death isnÆt the end. Even if crazed zombies grabbed me in some dark hall one night, even if they tore me apart, at least that wouldnÆt be the absolute end. There would be some comfort in that.
Everybody's trying to make every minute of the present last forever. Preserve every second.
In good old Colonial Dunsboro, masochism is a valuable job skill. It is in most jobs.
That's pretty much how we get through our own lives, watching television. Smoking crap. Self-medicating. Redirecting our attention. Jacking off. Denial.
We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it's our job to invent something better.
Because I can't hit bottom, I can't be saved.
HELLO! Look at me. HELLO! I am so ZEN. This is BLOOD. This is NOTHING. Hello. Everything is nothing, and it's so cool to be ENLIGHTENED. Like me.
I tagged a first-timer one night at fight club. That Saturday night, a young guy with an angel's face came to his first fight club, and I tagged him for a fight. That's the rule. If it's your first night in fight club, you have to fight. I knew that so I tagged him because the insomnia was on again, and I was in a mood to destroy something beautiful.
Not everything is about money. You didn't even say, hello. You are not your sad little wallet.
The liberator who destroys my property is fighting to save my spirit. The teacher who clears all possessions from my path will set me free.
Valley of the Dogs. Where even if they don't kill you, if someone loves you enough to take you home, they still castrate you.
At this rate, we'll never get to the future.
I'm not sure what we're running from. Nobody. Or the future. Fate. Growing up. Getting old. Picking up the pieces. As if running we won't have to get on with our lives.
Tell the world what scares you most. Save the world with some advice from the future.
You have to jump into disaster with both feet.
I came to Party Crashing because accidents happen. People you love will die. Nothing you treasure will last forever. And I need to accept and embrace that fact.
What if reality is nothing but some disease?
Part of her doing suicide intervention is my caseworker has to mix me another gin and tonic.
Face it, dude. You nearly did sex on God's table. You're already shame spiralling big-time.
It sounds as if you'd like to be God.
The feeling is less like an ending than just another starting point.
We live and we die and anything else is just a delusion.
Being tired isn't the same as being rich, but most times it's close enough.
Hey, even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.
If she was going to die, Marla didn't want to know about it.
Nothing was solved when the fight was over, but nothing mattered.
The lower you fall, the higher you'll fly. The farther you run, the more God wants you back.
Waiters will always pee in soup, people will always fall in love.
Be famous. Be a big social experiment in getting what you don't want. Find value in what we've been taught is worthless. Find good in what the world says is evil. I'm giving you my life because I want the whole world to know you. I wish the whole world would embrace what it hates. Find what you're afraid of most and go live there.
In the way our world is, everybody shoulder to shoulder, people knowing everything about you at first glance, a good veil is your tinted limousine window. The unlisted number for your face. Behind a good veil, you could be anyone.
The best way is not to fight it, just go. Don't be trying all the time to fix things. What you run from only stays with you longer. When you fight something, you only make it stronger.
You have to keep recycling yourself.
If you look at old pictures, Irene Casey is so pretty. Not just young, but pretty the way you look when your face goes smooth, the skin around your eyes and lips relaxed, the pretty you only look when you love the person taking the picture.
When you ate her tuna casserole, you didn't talk or flip through a National Geographic. Your eyes and ears stayed inside your mouth. Your whole world kept inside your mouth, feeling and careful for the little balled-up tinfoils Irene Casey would hide in the tuna parts. A side effect of eating slow was, you naturally, genuinely tasted, and the food tasted better. Could be other ladies were better cooks, but you'd never notice.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories