“Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.”
“It is sometimes a mistake to climb; it is always a mistake never even to make the attempt. If you do not climb, you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?”
“Some things are too big to be seen; some emotions are too huge to be felt.”
“Of course you don't believe in fairies. You're fifteen. You think I believed in fairies at fifteen? Took me until I was at least a hundred and forty. Hundred and fifty, maybe. Anyway, he wasn't a fairy. He was a librarian. All right?”
“Never trust the storyteller. Only trust the story.”
“You know what happens when you dream of falling? Sometimes you wake up.
Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.”
“It is sometimes a mistake to climb. It is always a mistake to never make the attempt.”
“Dreams are composed of many things, my son. Of images and hopes, of fears and memories. Memories of the past, and memories of the future...”
“If you do not climb, you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?”
“Trees there were, old as trees can be, huge and grasping with hearts black as sin. Strange trees that some said walked in the night.”
“Bodies are strange. Some people have real problems with the stuff that goes on inside them. You find out that inside someone you know there's just mucus and meat and slime and bone. They menstruate, salivate, defecate and cry. You know? Sometimes it can just kill the romance. You know that?”
“We write our names in the sand, and then the waves roll in and wash them away.”
“Value's in what people think. Not in what's real. Value's in dreams, boy.”
“You shouldn't trust the storyteller; only trust the story.”
“And all the time we spent in this place would fade and vanish, like a dawn dream on waking that colours the day but cannot be touched or remembered.”
“- The myths are dead. The gods are dead. The ghosts and ghouls and phantoms are dead. There is only the State, and the People.
- No, Monsieur Robespierre. There is much more than that.”
“And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.”
“It is true that my rent is but 50 cents a week. It is true that my clothes were a gift from the city council. I exchange federal currency for my own, and thus I live. Many restaurants and eating houses now accept my scrip. This is my city, in my country. They treat me well here. I am the Emperor of the United States, Pain. I am content to be what I am. What more than that could any man desire?”
“In any case talking about the past we lie with every breath we draw.”
“Dear Anyone: This is a letter from one anyone to another anyone, no names required, because nobody really knows anyway. Names don't make a hell of a lot of difference. The world is made up entirely of strangers. Millions and millions of them. Everyone is a stranger to everyone else. Sometimes we think we know other people, especially those we supposedly are close to, but if we really knew them, why are we so often surprised by the shit they do? Like, parents are always surprised by what their kids will do. They raise them from the time they are babies, spend each and every day with them, think they're these goddamn fucking angels, and then one day the cops come to the door and say hey, guess what parents? Your kid just bashed some other kid's head in with a baseball bat. Or you're the kid, and you think things are pretty fucking OK, and then one day this guy who's supposed to be your dad says so long, have a nice life. And you think, what the fuck is this? So years later, your mom ends up living with another guy, and he seems OK, but you think, when's it coming? That's what life is. Life is always asking yourself, when's it coming? Because if it hasn't come for a long time, you know you're fucking due. All the best, Anyone.”
“One thought-murder a day keeps the psychiatrist away.”
“Even in the most wretched life, there’s hope.”
“I meet you. I remember you. Who are you? You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. How could I know this city was tailor-made for love? How could I know you fit my body like a glove? I like you. How unlikely. I like you. How slow all of a sudden. How sweet. You cannot know. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. You’re destroying me. You’re good for me. I have time. Please, devour me. Deform me to the point of ugliness. Why not you? Why not you in this city and in this night, so like other cities and other nights you can hardly tell the difference? I beg of you.”
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