All alone! Whether you like it or not, alone is something you'll be quite a lot!
And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.
But I didn't understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.
She had loved him for such a long time, she thought. How was it that she did now know him at all?
Death comes to us all; we can only choose how to face it when it comes.
Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.
People aren't born sad; we make them that way.
...and there you have it, another body on the floor surrounded by things that don't mean much to anyone except to the one who can't take any of them along.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. We both know that’s bullshit; it comes from people who have nothing comforting or original to say.
And will 'a not come again? And will 'a not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death bed: He will never come again.
I carry the seeds of death within me and plant them wherever I linger long enough to love.
I remember staying to look at it for a long time, as one would linger within reach of a consoling whisper. The sky was pearly grey. It was one of those overcast days so rare in the tropics, in which memories crowd upon one, memories of other shores, of other faces.
The pretty ones are usually unhappy. They expect everyone to be enamored of their beauty. How can a person be content when their happiness lies in someone else's hands, ready to be crushed at any moment? Ordinary-looking people are far superior, because they are forced to actually work hard to achieve their goals, instead of expecting people to fall all over themselves to help them.
He ran his fingers over the moist ends of her hair and across her face. Her eyes were wet. Jesus Christ. How many nights had he heard Lily crying. As some parents sleep through fire, thunderstorms, and voices at the back door only to wake at a child’s whisper, so Everett heard Lily crying at night. Her muffled sobs seemed to have broken his dreams for years. He had heard her even at Fort Lewis, even in Georgia, finally at Bliss. That was Lily crying in the wings whenever the priest came to tear up his mother’s grave. Lily cried in the twilight field where he picked wild poppies with Martha; Lily’s was the cry he heard those nights the kiln burned, the levee broke, the ranch went to nothing.
I can’t think of anything more disheartening than living a life without a clear purpose.
The free-from aisle is the most depressing place in the supermarket.
To the scientist there is the joy in pursuing truth which nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth.
I don't wanna make something depressing, I wanna make something sorrowful.