Do you like the person you’ve become?
When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself.
I like autumn. The drama of it; the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. A dangerous time; of violent rages and deceptive calm, of fireworks in the pockets and conkers in the fist.
The human eye is a wonderful device. With a little effort, it can fail to see even the most glaring injustice.
Then I let the stories live
inside my head, again and again
until the real world fades back
into cricket lullabies
and my own dreams.
People don’t change who they are. They only change what they do with it.
Can you be happy with the movies, and the ads, and the clothes in the stores, and the doctors, and the eyes as you walk down the street all telling you there is something wrong with you? No. You cannot be happy. Because, you poor darling baby, you believe them.
Out of habit, she stopped by the bookshelf in the living room to see if there was a paperback that she could stuff into her pocket for emergencies — you never knew when you might need a book to entertain and comfort and distract you in the day’s empty places.
Do I love you? My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.