Stealing Words

I account you unfortunate in that you have been unfortunate. You pass through life without an adversary​. No one can know your potentially, not even you.

Life is under no obligation to give us what we expect.

You make it sound like there's a correlation between what should happen and what actually happens.

You people, Bosch thought. It was always said like that, as if the police were another species. The blue species which carried armor that the horrors of the world could not pierce.

Lies are necessary when the truth is too difficult to believe.

You have to carry the fire. I don't know how to. Yes, you do. Is the fire real? The fire? Yes it is. Where is it? I don't know where it is. Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first

The pleasure of rooting for Goliath is that you can expect to win. The pleasure of rooting for David is that, while you don’t know what to expect, you stand at least a chance of being inspired.

The TV's the altar. I'm what people are sacrificing to. What do they sacrifice? 'Their time, mostly, Sometimes each other

She read my books the way a young cannibal might eat the hearts of brave old enemies. Their magic would become hers

Do not count on the gratitude of deeds done for people in the past,you must make them grateful for things you will do for them in the future.

They never open their mouths without subtracting from the sum of human knowledge.

The truth is not arrived at by majority vote.

A word of command has made these silent figures our enemies; a word of command might transform them into our friends.

I feel excited; but I do not want to be, for that is not right. I want that quiet rapture again. I want to feel the same powerful, nameless urge that I used to feel when I turned to my books. The breath of desire that then arose from the coloured backs of the books, shall fill me again, melt the heavy, dead lump of lead that lies somewhere in me and waken again the impatience of the future, the quick joy in the world of thought, it shall bring back again

The shelling is stronger than everything. It wipes out the sensibilities, I merely crawl still farther under the coffin, it shall protect me, though Death himself lies in it.