When you die, do you want to feel ashamed of what you’ve done with your life? Feel ashamed of what your life meant?
It bothered me that he was right. Without Sir Stuart’s intervention, I’d have been dead again already.That’s right–you heard me: dead again already.I mean, come on. How screwed up is your life (after- or otherwise) when you find yourself needing phrases like that?
They don’t make morgues with windows. In fact, if the geography allows for it, they hardly ever make morgues above the ground. I guess it’s partly because it must be eisier to refrigerate a bunch of coffin-sized chambers in a room insulated by the earth. But that can’t be all there is to it. Under the earth means a lot more than relative altitude. It’s where dead things fit. Graves are under the earth. So are Hell, Gehenna, Hades, and a dozen other reported afterlives.Maybe it says somthing about people. Maybe for us, under the earth is a subtle and profound statement. Maybe ground level provides us with a kind of symbolic boundary marker, an artificial construct that helps us remember that we are alive. Mabye it helps us push death’s shadow back from our lives.I live in a basement apartment and like it. What does that say about me?Probably that I overanalyze things.
If you go to your death rather than do everything you might to prevent what is happening, you are merely committing suicide and trying to make yourself feel better about it. That is the act of a coward. It is beneath contempt.
Son. Everyone dies alone. That’s what it is. It’s a door. It’s one person wide. When you go through it, you do it alone. But it doesn’t mean you’ve got to be alone before you go through the door. And believe me, you aren’t alone on the other side.
Many things are not as they seem: The worst things in life never are.
Son. Everyone dies alone. That’s what it is. It’s a door. It’s one person wide. When you go through it, you do it alone. But it doesn’t mean you’ve got to be alone before you go through the door. And believe me, you aren’t alone on the other side.
– Did you really save the world ?…- Mostly I was saving my own ass. Just happend that the world was in the same spot.
Home is where, when you go there and tell people to get out, they have to leave.
You backbiting, poisonous, treacherous, deceitful, wicked, clever girl. If this works I’ll buy you a pony.
I have nightmares about hell, where all I do is add up numbers and try to have conversations with people like you.
I don’t know about your true form, but the weight of your ego sure is pushing the crust of the earth toward the breaking point.
Caring about someone isn’t complicated. It isn’t easy. But it isn’t complicated, either. Kinda like lifting the engine block out of a car.
So. You get handed a holy sword by an archangel, told to go fight the forces of evil, and you somehow remain an atheist. Is that what you’re saying?
We are not going to die. Butters stared up at me, pale, his eyes terrified. We’re not? No. And do you know why? He shook his head. Because Thomas is too pretty to die. And because I’m too stubborn to die. I hauled on the shirt even harder. And most of all because tomorrow is Oktoberfest, Butters, and polka will never die.
Pain is a byproduct of life. That’s the truth. Life sometimes sucks. That’s true for everyone. But if you don’t face the pain and the suck, you don’t ever get the other things either. Laughter. Joy. Love. Pain passes, but those things are worth fighting for. Worth dying for.
There are things you can’t walk away from. Not if you want to live with yourself afterward.
Love is another kind of power, which shouldn’t surprise you. Magic comes from emotions, among other things. And when two people are together, in that intimacy, when they really, selflessly love each other it changes them both. It lingers on in the energy of their lives, even when they are apart.
Jim Butcher
You’re such a cynic, Molly said.I think cynics are playful and cute.
Apocalypse is a frame of mind. [Nicodemus] said then. A belief. A surrender to inevitability. It is a despair for the future. It is the death of hope.
I died. I died and someone made a clerical error and I am in Heaven.
Murphy hung up and I said, to the still-open line, Hey, if you’ve got someone watching my place, could you call the cops if anyone tries to steal my Star Wars poster? It’s an original.Then I vindictively hung up on the FBI. It made my inner child happy.
How long have you been a Wiccan?”A what?”A pagan. A witch.”I’m not a witch,’ I said, glancing out the door. ‘I’m a wizard.’Sanya frowned. ‘What is the difference?”Wizard has a Z’He looked at me blankly.’No one appreciates me.’ I muttered.
We have now left Reason and Sanity Junction. Next stop, Looneyville.