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He doesn't think of doctrines as primarily "true' or 'false', but as 'academic' or practical', 'outworn' or 'contemporary', 'conventional' or 'ruthless'. Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in keeping him from the Church. Don't waste time trying to make him think that materialism is true! Make him think it is strong, or stark, or courageous--that it is the philosophy of the future. That's the sort of thing he cares about. ↗
Well, here were the ugly facts. She had no mad-ninja-skillz to rely on and her family didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know where she was. The only way she was leaving was if this creature allowed it. ↗
I could turn on my side, and she might turn on her side, too. And then we could kiss. But what's the point of kissing her now, anyway? It won't go anywhere. We are both staring at the cloudles sky. “Nothing ever happens like you imagine it will,” she says. ↗
—¿Ha sabido alguna vez que iba a llover sin ni siquiera ver las nubes, señorita Hopper? Sientes algo, no sabes bien el qué, algo que te dice que aunque esté el sol brillando va a llover… y al final llueve. O mejor, imagine un camino largo, muy largo, y una persona al final del mismo. Esa persona camina hacia usted. No puede ver nada de ella, ni su cara ni su ropa. Pero llega un instante en que, aún sin poder ver sus rasgos, ni siquiera su manera de andar, algo hace clic en su cabeza y la reconoce. Es un familiar. Es un amigo. Es un desconocido. Pues así veo yo a la muerte. Pero con la particularidad de que ella ya no está al final del camino, sino muy cerca. Puedo verla con todo detalle. Y solo quedan unos pocos pasos para que me alcance… ↗
Dead towns are the Cathedrals of Silence. They, too, have their gargoyles, singular figures, exaggerated, dubious, set in high profile. They stand out from the mass of grey, which takes all it has in the way of character, its twitchings of stagnant life from them. Some have been distorted by solitude, others grimace with a directionless fervour; here there are masks of cherished lust, there faces ceaselessly sculpted and furrowed by mysticism. Human gargoyles, the only figures of interest in this monotonous population. ↗
#cathedrals-of-silence #dead-towns #human-gargoyles #the-bells-of-bruges #life
Oh, I can't talk to you the way I've wanted to; I've been tellin' lies but I'll tell you the truth. Darling, I'm tired and I should be leaving, leaving. You know I'm tired and I should be leaving, leaving tonight. ↗