






That best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
(via Priscilla Gilman)
Why is it we don't always recognize the moment when love begins, but we always know when it ends?
Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.
The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that's the essence of inhumanity.
Song: "Lightning Crashes" by Live
Event: Live Concert with Girl With Whom I Was Hopelessly In Love
Laying on a ratty blanket that someone had brought from their basement, staring up at the stars in this outdoor concert area while the band played, fairly stoned on shitty high school grade weed, I had very little idea what was going on. And I couldn't have been happier.
How come we don't always know when love begins, but we always know when it ends?
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.
Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
Neil Gaiman