Do You Honestly Think Lenin Is Any

She Smiled Darkly And Shook Her Head. 'i'm Not Crazy. I'm Not. Of Course What Else Would A Crazy Person Claim? That's The Kafkaesque Genius Of It All. If You're Not Crazy But People Have Told The World You Are, Then All Your Protests To The Contrary Just Underscore Their Point. Do You See What I'm Saying?

Chuck Said, “hey. How Many Surrealists Does It Take To Screw In A Lightbulb?” Cawley Looked Over At Him. “i’ll Bite. How Many?” “fish,” Chuck Said And Let Loose A Bright Bark Of A Laugh.

Narrative Becomes The Way You Make Sense Of Chaos. That's How You Focus The World. It's The Only Reason You Should Ever Try This Writing Job.

It Had Occurred To Sean Once - On A Bender About Ten Years Before With Some Buddies, Sean And A Bloodstream Full Of Bourbon Turning Philosophical - That Maybe They Had Gotten In That Car. All Three Of Them. And What They Now Thought Of As Their Life Was Just A Dream State. That All Three Of Them Were, In Reality, Still Eleven-year-old Boys Trapped In Some Cellar, Imagining What They'd Become If They Ever Escaped And Grew Up.

And Often The Worst Thing Wasn't The Victims--they Were Dead, After All, And Beyond Any More Pain. The Worst Thing Was Those Who Loved Them And Survived Them. Often The Walking Dead From Now On, Shell-shocked, Hearts Ruptured, Stumbling Through The Remainder Of Their Lives Without Anything Left Inside Of Them But Blood And Organs, Impervious To Pain, Having Learned Nothing Except That The Worst Things Did, In Fact, Sometimes Happen. (mystic River)