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Kindle Notes & Highlights
They are the ones with bad dreams hidden inside, the ones you can’t stop thinking about when sleep is slow to come and you wonder why the closet door is open, when you know perfectly well that you shut it.
The real challenge is getting into the damned thing, and I believe that’s why so many would-be writers with great ideas never actually pick up the pen or start tapping away at the keys. All too often, it’s like trying to start a car on a cold day. At first the motor doesn’t even crank, it only groans. But if you keep at it (and if the battery doesn’t die), the engine starts . . . runs rough . . . and then smooths out.
Every day spent writing is a learning experience, and a battle to do something new. Phoning it in is not allowed.
his heart filled with envy and jealousy—a vile brew, but strangely tasty.
Once you started eating shit, it had a way of becoming your regular diet.
Potential motivation poster? 😊
quot libros, quam breve tempus—so many books, so little time
In one ear, out the other. Nothing to slow down what he says in the middle.
they’re drawn by the flashing red lights on top of the EMT Suburban the way bugs are drawn to a porch light.
The guy in the turn lane unrolled his window and raised one finger to the blue Florida sky in a salute that is as American as baseball.
There’s an old joke about Alzheimer’s: the good news is that you meet new people every day.
an old man’s body is nothing but a sack in which he carries aches and indignities.
a man who enjoys his tipple.
He smiled. It was a benevolent smile. Also unpleasant: sheep lips, wolf teeth.
It occurred to him that spite was a kind of methadone for lovers, and better than going cold turkey.
But we’re going to make a silk purse out of this sow’s ear.
as important in the great scheme of things as a low fart in a high wind.
Says it all 😁
I was just an old third-base coach with so many groin pulls my balls were practically banging on my knees—but
almost only counts in horseshoes.
It put a chill up me from the crack of my ass to the nape of my neck.
“You get hard when the wind blows,”
a stiff dick has no conscience.
Life was a short shelf that came with bookends.
The whiff of charlatan about him was even stronger than the smell of his aftershave.
Two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead.
You can call me anything, as the saying goes, just as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.
“Barely skilled n mostly distilled.”
You could call that irony or tragedy or just the way life goes. Me, I ain’t no philosopher.
I didn’t often put my foot down with Ma—she was apt to bite it right off your ankle—but I did that time.
sleepless with grief and depression, aware that he was edging closer and closer to just giving up and pulling the pin.
