There are so many kinds of time. The time by which we measure our lives. Months
and years. Or the big time, the time that raises mountains and makes stars. Or all the things that happen between one heartbeat and the next. Its hard to live in all those kinds of times. Easy to forget that you live in all of them.
We're all born strangers to ourselves and each other, and we're seldom formally introduced.
I won't put my ignorance on an altar and call it God. It feels like idolatry, like the worst kind of idolatry.
You must not make the mistake of thinking that because nothing lasts, nothing matters.
Children wear their natures like brightly-colored clothes; that's why they lie so transparently. Adulthood is the art of deceit.
But the world is what it is and won’t be bargained with.
What a person runs from and what a person runs to aren't always as different as we hope.
Words like anchors, tethering boats of memory that would otherwise be settled by the storm.
Amazing, I thought, how busily we had turned ourselves into people who didn't know one another very well.