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Aren't you going to tell me I'm not so bad? she asked. Mmm-no. I was thinking how every man loves a hot girl with a history of making mistakes. Because it's always possible she'll make one with you.

Joe Hill

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But God fears women even more that He fears the devil- and is right to. She, with her power to bring life into the world, was truly made in the image of the Creator, not man.
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I want you to remember what was good in me, not what was most awful. The people you love should be allowed to keep their worst to themselves.
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The mad sometimes drilled holes in their own heads to let the demons out. To relieve the pressure of thoughts they could no longer bear. Jude understood the impulse. Each beat of his heart was a fresh and staggering blow felt in the nerves behind his eyes and in his temples. Punishing evidence of life.
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Sooner or later a black car came for everyone.
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I will be waiting by candlelight in our tree house of the mind.
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He understood that the ghost existed first and foremost within his own head. That maybe ghosts always haunted minds, not places. If he wanted to take a shot at it, he’d have to turn the barrel against his own temple.
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Music [is] the third rail of life. You grabbed it to shock yourself out of the dull drag of hours. To feel something. To burn with all the emotions you didn't get to experience in the ordinary run of school, TV, and loading the dishwasher after dinner.
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I remind myself that no one day of writing matters all that much. A story is built somewhat like a stalactite - one little drip of mud and grit at a time.
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It's like in the Bible.You can't always get what you want, but if you really need something, you usually find it. What part of the Bible is that from? Ig asked her. The Gospel of Keith Richards?
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The language of sin was universal, the original Esperanto.
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Her sanity was a fragile thing, a butterfly cupped in her hands, that she carried with her everywhere, afraid of what would happen if she let it go-or got careless and crushed it.
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You know someone for a while and then one day a hole opens underneath them, and they fall out of your world.
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There's only room for one hero in this story-and everyone knows the devil doesn't get to be the good guy.
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Workers of the world awaken. Break your chains, demand your rights. All the wealth you make is taken, by exploiting parasites. Shall you kneel in deep submission from your cradle to your grave? Is the height of your ambition to be a good and willing slave?
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Gold don't come off. What's good stays good no matter how much of a beating it takes.
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She just knew that even when you had nothing, you still had love.
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That was one thing you found out when you were stoned, or wasted, or feverish: that the world was always turning and that only a healthy mind could block out the sickening whirl of it.
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It was like wondering how evil had come into the world or what happens to a person after he dies: an interesting philosophical exercise, but also curiously pointless, since evil and death happened, regardless of the why and the how and what-it-meant.
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I mean, when the world comes for your children, with the knives out, it's your job to stand in the way.
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