They were the screams of riders torn apart by the twisted reflections of their own inner selves.
You know that feeling you get when your leg falls asleep? Well, I suddenly had that feeling in my spine. Like termites were chewing through the marrow in my backbone.
It can be said, then, that Everlost is heaven...for the places that deserve a share of forever. Such places are few and far between...The greatest of these stood near Manhattan's southern-most tip: the two gray brothers to the green statue in the bay. The towers had found their heaven...held fast, and held forever by the memories of a mourning world, and by the dignity of the souls who got where they were going on that dark September day.
A pedestal is the most insidious prison ever devised.
Hey," says Hayden, "I'm Switzerland; neutral as can be, and also with great chocolate." "Get lost," Roland tells him. "Already am." And Hayden strolls away.
[...] every time he forces himself to think before acting, it's her voice in his head telling him to slow down. He wants to tell her, but she's always so busy in the medical jet—and you don't just go to somebody and say, "I'm a better person because you're in my head.
Milestone! This is a momentous occasion," he tells her cheerily. "It should be witnessed by a friend." She throws him an icy gaze, and he does a verbal back pedal. "Aaaand since no friends are present, I'll have to do.
Sometimes we make our alliances not by the shape and color of our flesh but by the convictions of our heart.
Cowards hide [...] but warriors lie and wait [...] the only difference is whether you're motivated by fear or purpose.
...You know something, don't you?" "I know lots of things--your inquiry needs to be more specific." "Just answer the question." "True/false or multiple choice?
...And perhaps you can sense, in some small twisting loop of your gut, the convergence of the wrong, of the right, and of the woefully misguided. If you do, then pay sharp attention to the moment you wake, and the moment you fall asleep...For maybe then you will know, without a shadow of a doubt, which is which.
Cities are never random. No matter how chaotic they might seem, everything about them grows out of a need to solve a problem
Good in Crisis; Sucks at Normal.’ That about sums up my whole life, doesn’t it?
Normally Connor would walk away from a conversation like this. His life is about tangibles: things you can see, hear and touch. God, souls, and all that has always been like a secret in a black box he couldn't see into, so it was easier just to leave it alone. Only now, he's inside the black box.
Lord, if what I'm doing is wrong, then by all means strike me down. Otherwise set me free.
Teenage rebellion is for suburban schoolchildren. Get over it.
...the Statue of Liberty's got this invitation: 'Give me your tired, your poor, your reeking homeless--' 'Huddled masses,' said Ira. 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.' ... Okay, fine. So like everybody in the old countries says, 'Hey, I'm a huddled mass,' and they all wanna come over.
It's called loitering, which is like littering with human beings as the trash.
Eventually your body will learn the alliances it has to make with itself,' Kenny had said - as if Cam was a factory full of strike-prone workers, or worse, a clutch of slaves forced into unwanted labor.
No," says Ariana. "It was a dream. Reality got in the way, that's all.
It's that quirky kind of weekend feeling they write ridiculous sunny-day songs about. You know the ones--I'm sure they're on your iPod even though you'd never admit it.
It's amazing how people can surprise you.
Why are you still with me, Fry?" CyFi asks after one of his body-shaking seizures. "Any sane dude woulda taken off days ago. "Who says I'm sane?" "Oh, you're sane, Fry. You're so sane, you scare me. You're so sane, it's insane.
Mooooon!” said the Ogre. “Tranquility …” Then he pointed at the full moon. “Neil Armstrong walked in a sea of Tranquility.” Then he added, “It’s made of cheese. But you have to take off the plastic before you put it on a burger.” Mickey sighed. “What’s his story?” the wraith asked. “He’s chocolate,” Mikey said.
He only wishes there were something that would heal the scars in his mind, which he can still feel. He sees his mind now as an archipelago of islands that he labors to build bridges between - and while he's had great success engineering the most spectacular of bridges, he suspects there are some islands that he'll never reach.
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