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Growing up doesn’t mean getting over everything that happened to us as children. It just means calcifying it and never letting go.
Leaving the house without making sure I’m equipped for a knife fight is a good way to guarantee I wind up in a knife fight because the universe likes nothing more than making me regret my choices.
“I trust her to be wild and impulsive and bold and self-destructive when it means someone else might be saved. I trust her to be the month she was named for, cold and kind by turns, endlessly storming, so that nothing can stand in her path but risk being blown away. I trust her to be October, and what I’ve learned, what’s done nothing to stop my heart being given to her care, is that to be October is to be constantly in the path of destruction and not always to have the sense to step aside. I’m uncomfortable not because I don’t trust her, but because I trust her too well.”
It always comes down to the sea. Creatures of the land like to think dryness is the natural state of living things, but that’s arrogance and nothing more; the sea came first and the sea will come last and everything in the middle is only a story sung by children who have achieved temporary mastery of the air.
“I had time to restore most of the larger occupants of the knowe to their customary forms before I got called away by the rolling emergency that is your ongoing existence,”
“I can’t keep you and Simon both around,” I said. “You both talk like you think Oscar Wilde is going to come along and give you dialogue notes, and there’s only so much I can take.”
Love can’t always save you, but love should always try to guide you home.”
