I wanted to shout myself into his ear.
I wanted to shout myself into his ear.
It was terrible. All of the things we couldn't share. The room was filled with conversations we weren't having.
She had been in love so many times that she began to suspect she was not falling in love, but rather doing something much more ordinary
The paper, the stapler, the staples, the tape. It makes me sick. Physical things. Forty years of loving someone becomes staples and tape.
What were we spending so much time doing if not getting to know each other?
Everything I did, I did because I thought it was the correct thing to doà I am not a hero, it is trueà But I am not a bad person, either.
I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.
Love itself became the object of her love. She loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for.
The end of the world has come often, and continues to come.
With writing, we have second chances.
Do you have any coffee?'...'It stunts my growth, and I'm afraid of death.
I don't mind if smiles come at my expense, I'm a small price to pay.
I regret how much I believed in the future.
I wanted to touch him, to tell him that even if everyone left everyone, I would never leave him, he talked and talked, his words fell through him, trying to find the floor to his sadness....
It was the first time I had ever made love. I wondered if he knew that. It felt like crying. I wondered, Why does anyone ever make love?
She laughed enough to migrate an entire flock of birds. That was how she said yes
The secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into.
When I looked ay you my life made sense. Even the bad things made sense. They were necessary to make you possible.
Everything is to protect you. I exist in case you need to be protected.
I saw Herschel and he saw me and we stood next to each other because that is what friends do in the presence of evil or love.
Memories are small prayers to God, if we believed in that sort of thing.
The Eskimos have four hundred words for snow, and the Jewshave four hundred for schmuck.
Words never mean what we want them to mean.
Each day has been chained to the previous one. But the weeks have wings. Anyone who believes that a second is faster than a decade did not live my life.
I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame. Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want. Shame is when you turn your head away from something you do not want.
I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live.
I was more alone than if I had been alone.
It's a rule that we never listen to sad music, we made that rule early on, songs are as sad as the listener, we hardly ever listen to music.
She let out a laugh, and then she put her hand over her mouth, like she was angry at herself for forgetting her sadness.
Their length could not be measured in years, just as an ocean could not explain the distance we have traveled, just as the dead can never be counted.
Why didn't I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.
For how long could we fail until we surrendered?
I used to think that humor was the only way to appreciate how wonderful and terrible the world is, to celebrate how big life is. But now I think the opposite. Humor is a way of shrinking from that wonderful and terrible world.
Once you hear something, you can never return to the time before you heard it.
The horse at the bottom of the river, shrouded by the sunken night sky, closed its heavy eyes. The prehistoric ant in Yankel's ring, which had lain motionless in the honey-colored amber since long before Noah hammered the first plank, hid its head between its many legs, in shame.
You are the only one who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you.
Even if I don't like what I am, I know what I am. My children like what they are, but they don't know what they are. So tell me which is worse.
I flipped back through the pad of paper while I thought about what Stephen Hawking would do next.
I shook my tambourine the whole time, because it helped me remember that even though I was going through different neighborhoods, I was still me.
I wasn't having second thoughts, but I was having thoughts.
It's hard to say goodbye to the place you've lived. It can be as hard as saying goodbye to a person.
She said I could have a seat on the couch if I wanted to, but I told her I didn't believe in leather, so I stood.
Then I have some bad news for you, because humans are going to destryo each other as soon as it becomes easy enough to, which will be very soon.
Years were passing through the spaces between moments.
From where she is, the page- her paper-thin future-is infinitely heavy.
I was of the opinion that the past is past, and like all that is not now it should remain buried along the side of our memories.
One day you will do things for me that you hate. That is what it means to be family.
The images of his infinite pasts and infinite futures washed over him as he waited, paralyzed, in the present.
A few weeks after the worst day, I started writing lots of letters. I don't know why, but it was one of the only things that made my boots lighter.
Every moment before this one depends on this one.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories