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When you’re twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It’s only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect you’ve been looking at the map upside down, and not until you’re forty are you entirely sure. By the time you’re sixty, take it from me, you’re fucking lost.
When it comes to the past, everyone writes fiction.
Love leaves scars.
“History is the collective and ancestral shit of the human race, a great big and ever-growin pile of crap.
the powers that be have a way of outlawing many beautiful things made by ordinary people.
It’s hard to let go. Even when what you’re holding onto is full of thorns, it’s hard to let go. Maybe especially then.
“I can’t understand why people use religion to hurt each other when there’s already so much pain in the world,” Mrs. Shoplaw said. “Religion is supposed to comfort.”
The last good time always comes, and when you see the darkness creeping toward you, you hold on to what was bright and good. You hold on for dear life.
