Quote

In Seattle we live among the trees and the waterways, and we feel we are rocked gently in the cradle of life. Our winters are not cold and our summers are not hot and we congratulate ourselves for choosing such a spectacular place to rest our heads.

Garth Stein

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Garth Stein
Age: 59
Born: 1964
Born: December 6
Author
Film Producer
Novelist
Writer
LA
California
Tree
Heads
Congratulate
Place
Hot
Winters
Live
Trees
Summers
Feel
Winter
Seattle
Feels
Summer
Gently
Life
Among
Cradle
Cold
Spectacular
Waterways
Rest
Choosing
Rocked

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People speak of a will to live. They rarely speak of a will to die. Because people are afraid of death. Death is dark and unknown and frightening. But not for me. It is not the end.
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We are all afforded our physical existence so we can learn about ourselves.
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Rain amplifies your mistakes, and water on the track can make your car handle unpredictably. When something unpredictable happens you have to react to it if you’re reacting at speed, you’re reacting too late. And so you should be afraid.
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He died that day because his body had served its purpose. His soul had done what it came to do, learned what it came to learn, and then was free to leave.
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Can we not will ourselves to achieve the impossible? Can we not use the power of our life force to change something: one small thing, one insignificant moment, one breath, one gesture? Is there nothing we can do to change what is around us?
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That which we manifest is before us we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves.
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Those monkey-thumbs were meant for dogs. Give me my thumbs, you fu**ing monkeys!
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It’s so hard to communicate because there are so many moving parts. There’s presentation and there’s interpretation and they’re so dependent on each other it makes things very difficult.
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[M]emory is time folding back on itself. To remember is to disengage from the present.
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If you taught me to read and provided for me the same computer system as someone has provided for Stephen Hawking, I, too, would write great books. And yet you don't teach me to read, and you don't give me a computer stick I can push around with my nose to point at the next letter I wish typed. So whose fault is it that I am what I am?
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I know in this time of great technological advancement, the idea of reading a book seems almost anachronistic, but I think it's worth preserving.
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That which you manifest is before you. The visible becomes inevitable. Your car goes where your eyes go.
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