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We read to know we're not alone.
The Art Of Racing In The Rain —— Garth Stein
Page 164
I need to feel myself, understand myself and this horrible world we are all trapped in. I need to do my part to crush it, stamp out what was attacking me, my way of life. So, I ran.
Page 164
I need to feel myself, understand myself and this horrible world we are all trapped in. I need to do my part to crush it, stamp out what was attacking me, my way of life. So, I ran.
The Art Of Racing In The Rain —— Garth Stein
Page 206
No race has ever been won in the first corner, but plenty of races have been lost there.
Yes: The race is long—to finish first, first you must finish.
Page 206
No race has ever been won in the first corner, but plenty of races have been lost there.
Yes: The race is long—to finish first, first you must finish.
The Art Of Racing In The Rain —— Garth Stein
Page 230
They were disgusting creatures, nitrogen-based life forms that lived in the very darkest corners of the very deepest lakes where there is no light and the pressure crushes everything to sand; deep, dark places where oxygen would never dare venture.
Page 230
They were disgusting creatures, nitrogen-based life forms that lived in the very darkest corners of the very deepest lakes where there is no light and the pressure crushes everything to sand; deep, dark places where oxygen would never dare venture.
The Art Of Racing In The Rain —— Garth Stein
Page 311
Growing old is a pathetic thing. It is full of limitations and reduction. It happens to us all, I know; but I think that it might not have to. I think it happens to those of us who request it. And in our current mind-set, our collective ennui, it is what we have chosen to do. But one day a mutant child will be born who refuses to age, who refuses to acknowledge the limitation of these bodies of ours, who lives in health until he is done with life, not until his body no longer supports him. He will live for hundreds of years, like Noah. Like Moses. This child's genes will be passed to his offspring, and more like him will follow. And their genetic makeup will supplant the genes of those of us who need to grow old and decay before we die. I believe that one day it will come to pass; however, such a world is beyond my purview.
Page 311
Growing old is a pathetic thing. It is full of limitations and reduction. It happens to us all, I know; but I think that it might not have to. I think it happens to those of us who request it. And in our current mind-set, our collective ennui, it is what we have chosen to do. But one day a mutant child will be born who refuses to age, who refuses to acknowledge the limitation of these bodies of ours, who lives in health until he is done with life, not until his body no longer supports him. He will live for hundreds of years, like Noah. Like Moses. This child's genes will be passed to his offspring, and more like him will follow. And their genetic makeup will supplant the genes of those of us who need to grow old and decay before we die. I believe that one day it will come to pass; however, such a world is beyond my purview.
Every Day —— David Levithan
I wake up.
Immediately, I have to figure out who I am. It's not just the body-opening my eyes and discovering whether the skin on my are is light or dark, whether my hair is long or short, whether I'm fat or thin, boy or girl, scarred or smooth. The body is the easiest thing to adjust to, if you're used to waking up in a new one each morning, It's the life, the context of the body, that can be hard to grasp.
Every day I am someone else. I am myself-I know I am Myself-but I am also someone else.
It has always been like this.
I wake up.
Immediately, I have to figure out who I am. It's not just the body-opening my eyes and discovering whether the skin on my are is light or dark, whether my hair is long or short, whether I'm fat or thin, boy or girl, scarred or smooth. The body is the easiest thing to adjust to, if you're used to waking up in a new one each morning, It's the life, the context of the body, that can be hard to grasp.
Every day I am someone else. I am myself-I know I am Myself-but I am also someone else.
It has always been like this.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter —— Carson McCullers
Page 12
Each evening the mute walked alone for hours in the street. Sometimes the nights were cold with the sharp, wet winds of March and it would be raining heavily. But to him this did not matter. His gait was agitated and he always kept his hands surfed tight into the pockets of his trousers. Then as the weeks passed the days grew warm and languorous. His agitation gave way gradually to exhaustion and there was a look about him of deep calm. In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the face of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through th streets of the town, always silent and alone.
Page 12
Each evening the mute walked alone for hours in the street. Sometimes the nights were cold with the sharp, wet winds of March and it would be raining heavily. But to him this did not matter. His gait was agitated and he always kept his hands surfed tight into the pockets of his trousers. Then as the weeks passed the days grew warm and languorous. His agitation gave way gradually to exhaustion and there was a look about him of deep calm. In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the face of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through th streets of the town, always silent and alone.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter —— Carson McCullers
Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.
Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter —— Carson McCullers
She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.
She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter —— Carson McCullers
This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings. This music was her—the real plain her...This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen... Now that it was over there was only her heart beating like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings. This music was her—the real plain her...This music did not take a long time or a short time. It did not have anything to do with time going by at all. She sat with her arms around her legs, biting her salty knee very hard. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen... Now that it was over there was only her heart beating like a rabbit and this terrible hurt.
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