Maybe he wasn’t there to lead so much as to provide an illusion to the others that they were being led.
Where’s the everlasting peace? Is there even such a thing? Or do we war like alien races war, eternally, against ourselves?
Fiction challenges us and works its miracles by placing us in the skin of another human being and teaching us empathy.
She could tell he was heading toward a bad place. She had seen him go there often enough, knew he had shortcuts he could take to get there in no time.
Our tears are trying to serve a purpose, but we rarely let them. I don’t know how we got started with subverting that purpose.
You die a little inside every time you have joyless sex. Neurons prune back. The good in there withers. And some things never grow back.
just know that it takes a bit of courage to unlearn that shame, and to be there for others when they try to unlearn that shame, and that it all gets easier after you feel how healthy it is.
Sleep was a vehicle for passing the time, for avoiding the present. It was a trolley for the depressed, the impatient, and the dying.
Imagination just wasn’t up to the task of understanding unique and foreign sensations. It knew only how to dampen or augment what it already knew. – Juliette, Pg. 139
He continued to see inevitable events from the past as avoidable, long after they’d taken their course.
This was the mark of deep infatuation, he thought: the desire to watch a woman talk just to see her lips move, to be around her.
To impatient youth, all things took for ever and any kind of waiting was torture. Pg. 221
Here was the love and violence in the hearts of men, all for their women
His impatience for sleep often frightened that very sleep away.
The idea of saving anything was folly, a life especially. No life had been truly saved, not in the history of mankind. They were merely prolonged. Everything comes to an end.
Heroes didn’t win. The heroes were whoever happened to win. History told their story — the dead didn’t say a word. All of it was bullshit.
She could tell he was exhausted, maybe half as much as she was, but he was still willing to do anything for her. It made her sad, someone being this loyal to her.
It was a sad loss, this illusion of importance, a humbling blow.
Don’t get like these assholes and fall in love with the fighting. Then you’re just setting off bombs because you like the noise they make.
It was the hubris of each generation to think this anew, to think that their time was special, that all things would come to an end with them.