The Gryphon added, “Come, let’s hear some of your adventures.”
“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
[I would give a lot to spend an hour talking to Chuck Palahniuk. I LOVE his writing.]
Find out what you’re afraid of and go live there.
Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.
Until you find something to fight for, you settle for something to fight against.
What we don’t understand we can make mean anything.
We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.
People have to really suffer before they can risk doing what they love.
I just don’t want to die without a few scars.
People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messed cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.
Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.
The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.
Reality means you live until you die. The real truth is nobody wants reality.
In a world where vows are worthless…where making a pledge means nothing. Where promises are made to be broken, it would be nice to see words come back into power.
You buy furniture. You tell yourself, this is the last sofa I will ever need in my life. Buy the sofa, then for a couple years you’re satisfied that no matter what goes wrong, at least you’ve got your sofa issue handled. Then the right set of dishes. Then the perfect bed. The drapes. The rug. Then you’re trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you.
Maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves.
We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens.
People fall so in love with their pain, they can’t leave it behind. The same as the stories they tell. We trap ourselves.
On game shows, some people will take the trip to France, but most people will take the washer and dryer pair.
Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known.
The future you have, tomorrow, won’t be the same future you had, yesterday.
Televangelist: A charismatic good ol’ boy with the power to perform miracles, such as transforming the donations of dirt-poor believers into a thirty-room mansion. - Anonymous
Calvin: This whole Santa Claus thing doesn’t make sense. Why all the secrecy? Why all the mystery? If the guy exists, why doesn’t he ever just show himself and prove it? And if he doesn’t exist, what’s the meaning of all this?
Hobbes: I dunno…isn’t this a religious holiday?
Calvin: Yeah, but actually, I’ve got the same questions about God.