More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
But it’s hard to call anything “wasted” when you learn your lesson this well.
A wound left untended festers, and that’s what’s happened with my family.
These are the moments a lifetime in the making. We toil in the shadows of our dreams. In the alleys of preparation and hard work where it’s dark and nothing’s promised. For years, we cling by a thread of hope and imagination, dedicating our lives to a pursuit with no guarantees.
I’m cautious not only about who I share my heart and body with, but I’m also protective of my dreams; of my ambition.
“‘We are artists,’” she quotes softly, her eyes set on mine. “‘When there is no joy to be found, we have the power in our hands, the will of our souls, to make it.’”
“History is so picked over, by the time you get to the tree, there’s barely any fruit left.”
She said, to survive, don’t use your gift for shit you hate. Work in a grocery store, pump gas, pick up trash to get by before you corrupt your art.”
“I don’t get stronger when you shield me from things, but I can draw strength from you if you walk with me through them.
Who wants normal? Extraordinary wants no parts of normal.
I’ve known the pain of losing the person you love most in the world. That is the risk of love, what makes it a radical act. You pour everything into another person who is bound by fragile humanity. You could lose them at any time, but you can’t reason with your heart.
Even death cannot steal, even time cannot erase, the peace I found in all the people I have known and loved.
“We can’t control everything, every outcome. It’s futile to try, but we can live our life to the fullest. We can live with a grateful heart. We can love deeply and outrageously. Nothing and no one can take away our capacity for love.”
It’s in the eyes that I find myself. There is the world-worn weariness of a fighter, the resolve of someone who has lived through some shit.
