Fear was the biggest bullshitter, he’d said. But sometimes, too, fear told the truth.
Sometimes you've got to make a mess before you clean it up.
I'd always thought telling the truth to other people was hard, but maybe that was a snap compared to telling the truth to yourself. Sometimes we just refused to know what we knew.
If time heals all wounds, and a book can hold a person's entire life, then you can speed up the process with a pulp time warp.
Sometimes you can cattle rope your heart and sometimes you can't, is all.
I don’t know why we do it. But sometimes we just swim straight for the net.
Sometimes I’ve even wished there was a human pause button, where you could choose some point in your life where you could stay always.
Maybe sometimes you just feel like everything can be taken from you all at once.
Sometimes that´s all you need…, to know it´s not broken. To know you’re still whole and that you’ll heal.
This was what happened after you'd been together with someone a long time. You loved that it was old and worn and comfy, but sometimes it was old and worn and comfy.
Writers are troubled about finding time to write and writer's block and publicizing books that aren't books yet. They agonize over how to write and what to write and what not to write.
Sometimes good choices are really bad ones, wrapped up in so much fear you can't even see straight.