I tore these out of your symbol and they turned into paper.

I walk. I talk. I shop, I sneeze. I’m gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There’s trees in the desert since you moved out, and I don’t sleep on a bed of bones.

Strong is fighting. It’s hard, and it’s painful, and it’s every day.

Every single person down there is ignoring your pain because they’re too busy with their own. The beautiful ones. The popular ones. The guys that pick on you. Everyone.

When kindness falls like rain, it washes me away.

When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened.
But in my dreams, I slew the dragon
And down this beaten path, and up this cobbled lane
I’m walking in my old footsteps once again.

If there is no great glorious end to all this, if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do. ‘Cause that’s all there is. What we do, now, today. …If there is no bigger meaning, then the smallest act of kindness is the greatest thing in the world.

A very wise woman once told me - you just go on. I’ve never encountered any good advice that didn’t boil down to that, in the end.

It was the cheese. The cheese was my undoing. This is the miracle of life melted over these chili fries, the bacterial flirtation with enzymes, the co-mingling of friendly micro-organisms giving birth to curds and whey. And from dust He created the universe.

So is it true
that only good girls go to heaven?
They only sell you what you buy.

Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.

Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot.

October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or of shutting a book, did not end a tale.

Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: “It is simply a matter,” he explained to April, “of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.”

Sometimes I suspect that we build our traps ourselves, then we back into them, pretending amazement the while, that this is the way of life, from the All-Highest down to the meanest creature in creation…but whether this is the case or no, it is still a worthy thing to open cages.