“One of the things you realize about gettin older is that not everybody is goin to get older with you.”

What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.

You have to carry the fire.” I don’t know how to.” Yes, you do.” Is the fire real? The fire?” Yes it is.” Where is it? I don’t know where it is.” Yes you do. It’s inside you. It always was there. I can see it.

There is no such joy in the tavern as upon the road there to.

Anything that doesn’t take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.

We think we are the victims of time. In reality, the way of the world isn’t fixed anywhere. How could that be possible? We are our own journey. And therefore we are time as well. We are the same. Fugitive. Inscrutable. Ruthless.

The closest bonds we will ever know are bonds of grief. The deepest community one of sorrow.

She said that these were things all women knew yet seldom spoke of. Lastly she said that if women were drawn to rash men it was only that in their secret hearts they knew that a man who would not kill for them was of no use at all.

I always thought when I got older that God would sort of come into my life in some way. He didn’t. I don’t blame him. If I was him I’d have the same opinion about me that he does.

He’d half meant to speak but those eyes had altered the world forever in the space of a heartbeat.

You fix what you can fix and you let the rest go. If there ain’t nothin to be done about it it aint even a problem. It’s just a aggravation.

If only my heart were stone.

Life is brief and to have to spend every day of it doing what somebody else wants you to do is not the way to live it.

If trouble comes when you least expect it then maybe the thing to do is to always expect it.

You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday don’t count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else.

Keep a little fire burning; however small, however hidden.

By day the banished sun circles the earth like a grieving mother with a lamp.