Love is forever. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be love. The world is beautiful. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be the world.
We’re here, and then we’re gone, and it’s not about the time we’re here, but what we do with the time.
We’d stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You’d think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn’t.
How baffling it is that we imagined cities incinerated by alien bombs and death rays when all they really needed was Mother Nature and time.
And, for one– ten thousandth of a second, all of it fell away, the despair and grief and anger and pain and hunger, and the old Ben Parish rose from the dead. The eyes that impaled. The smile that slayed. In another moment, he would fade, slide back into the new Ben, the one called Zombie, and I understood something I hadn’t before: He was dead, the object of my schoolgirl desires, just as the schoolgirl who desired him was dead.
You never know when the truth will come home. You can’t choose the time. The time chooses you.