I have taken many lives in my life. Many children, perhaps husbands, wives, parents. Perhaps it is only just that this same violation was inflicted upon me. Perhaps it is just that one who lives a life of war becomes a refugee from it.
They have forgotten that war is momentum.War is natural. And war makes one strong.
What a tremendous sin impatience is, he thinks. It blinds us to the moment before us, and it is only when that moment has passed that we look back, and see it was full of treasures.
…there is no better time to examine and understand one’s selfhood than when it is dissected and hurtling through darkness.
Here at the edges, in the cracks and at the crossroads, stepping from shadow to shadow in the river of darkness that runs through the heart of Wink, he feels much more at home.
And we convict almost every case, she thinks, because the law requires us to prosecute them for living their way of life.
One has no room for vengeance,’ says Shara, ‘when the eyes of the world are watching. We must be judicious, and bloodless.
No one does. No one really knows how to be happy. You just get close, sometimes. That’s all I want – just to be close.
I don’t have the time or the energy to hate,” says Shara. “I only wish to understand. People are what they are.
Envy the fire, for it is either going or not. Fires do not feel happy, sad, angry. They burn, or they do not burn.
Just because the nightmare you expected comes true, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying.
The gods are cruel not because they make us work. They are cruel because they allow us to hope.
Humanity’s relationship with the Divine is one of mutual give and take, and we mutually opted to part ways. But this perpetuation – setting up a way of thinking, and just letting it run – it doesn’t always yield good results.
Every second is a forever in Wink. Every day is a cool afternoon waiting to happen. And every life is one lived quietly, with your feet up and your sun-dappled lawn before you as you watch the world happily drift by.
When I come back to you, if I come back to you, will I know you? Will you be the city of my memory? Or will you be a stranger?
I will not see you, she tells the city, but I will remember you.