If you don’t turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else’s story.
If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn’t as cynical as real life.
If the landslide is big enough, even square pebbles will roll.
If the abnormal goes on long enough it becomes the normal.
If stress were food, he’d succeeded in turning his life into porridge.
If I were you, I’d sue my face for slander.
If failure had no penalty success would not be a prize.
If complete and utter chaos were lightning, then he’d be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor and shouting “All gods are bastards”.
If cats looked like frogs we’d realize what nasty, cruel little bastards they are. Style. That’s what people remember.
I’ve seen excitement, and I’ve seen boredom. And boredom was best.
I’m not superstitious. I’m a witch. Witches aren’t superstitious. We are what people are superstitious of.
I tell them stars have never hurt me, I wish I could say the same about people.
