Lying under such a myriad of stars. The sea’s black horizon. He rose and walked out and stood barefoot in the sand and watched the pale surf appear all down the shore and roll and crash and darken again. When he went back to the fire he knelt and smoothed her hair as she slept and he said if he were God he would have made the world just so and no different.
The voice of the Almighty speaks most profoundly in such things as lives in silence themselves.
You have my whole heart. You always did.
If it is life that you feel you are missing I can tell you where to find it. In the law courts, in business, in government. There is nothing occurring in the streets. Nothing but a dumbshow composed of the helpless and the impotent.
For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to see. But there.
I don't know what sort of world she will live in and I have no fixed opinions concerning how she should live in it. I only know that if she does not come to value what is true above what is useful, it will make little difference whether she lives at all.
I have no enemies. I dont permit such a thing.
There is no greater monster than reason.
It takes very little to govern good people. Very little. And bad people cant be governed at all. Or if they could I never heard of it.
If people knew the story of their lives, how many would then elect to live them?
Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all.
The world to come must be composed of what is past. No other material is at hand.
I think that when the lies are all told and forgot the truth will be there yet. It dont move about from place to place and it dont change from time to time. You cant corrupt it any more than you can salt salt.
I will do what I promised." He whispered. "No matter what. I will not send you into the darkness alone.
I tried to put things in perspective but sometimes you're just too close to it.
Nor does God whisper through the trees. His voice is not to be mistaken. When men hear it they fall to their knees and their souls are riven and they cry out to Him and there is no fear but only wildness of heart that springs from such longing.
Do you think that your fathers are watching? That they weigh you in their ledgerbook? Against what? There is no book and your fathers are dead in the ground.
What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.
Last words are only words.
War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.
What deity in the realms of dementia, what rabid god decocted out of the smoking lobes of hydrophobia could have devised a keeping place for souls so poor as is this flesh. This mawky worm-bent tabernacle.
Somewhere in the world is the most invincible man. Just as somewhere is the most vulnerable.
In his dream she was sick and he cared for her. The dream bore the look of sacrifice but he thought differently. He did not take care of her and she died alone somewhere in the dark and there is no other dream nor other waking world and there is no other tale to tell.
In history there are no control groups. There is no one to tell us what might have been. We weep over the might have been, but there is no might have been. There never was.
If you think about some of the things that are being talked about by thoughtful, intelligent scientists, you realize that in 100 years the human race won't even be recognizable.
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