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What's wrong with people? she says, almost too quiet for me to hear. Were they born with parts missing or did it fall out somewhere along the way?

Isaac Marion

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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Way
Quiet
People
Along
Says
Hear
Almost
Wrong
Parts
Born
Somewhere
Fall
Missing

More quotes by Isaac Marion

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One mistake, one brief lapse of my new found judgement-that's all it took to unravel everything. What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature.
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Writing isn't letters on paper. It's communication. It's memory.
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It's hard to take your life so seriously when you can see it all at once.
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Are we all just Dark Age doctors, swearing by our leeches? We crave a greater science. We want to be proven wrong.
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A month ago there was nothing on Earth I missed, enjoyed, or longed for. I knew I could lose everything and not feel anything, and I rested easy in that knowledge. But I'm growing tired of easy things.
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In my mind I am eloquent I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.
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We eat and sleep and shuffle through the fog, walking a marathon with no finish line, no medals, no cheering.
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My favorite songs change every year.
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Everything you see, you might be seeing for the last time.
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Sometimes it's a struggle to live in the moment.
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It's rare that I read more than two or three books by any one author, usually only one.
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That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.
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I can feel it... the chance to start over, to live right, to love right, to burn up in a fiery cloud and never again be buried in the mud.
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You should always be taking pictures, if not with a camera then with your mind. Memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.
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I wince at her use of the word human. I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.
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Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.
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I can no longer believe in any voodoo spell or laboratory virus. This is something deeper, darker. This comes from the cosmos, from the stars, or the unknown blackness behind them. The shadows in God's boarded-up basement.
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I want life and in all its stupid sticky rawness.
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It was fun, but it's over now. This is how things go.
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I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.
Isaac Marion