I should not have loved my daughter as I did. Not in this world in which nothing lives for long. You children are flies. You are roses. You multiply and die.

Most dystopian, classic and contemporary, paints a future world that puts a twist on present society - a future world that could plausibly happen.

Set fire to the broken pieces; start anew.

Dystopian, by definition, promises a darker story.

I think she's brave. I think that nobody has ever believed what she could be capable of. All her life, nobody was listening.

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

There's a hazy smile on her lips that won't go away, and her hair is a mess. It's like a brushfire filled with casualties.

‎I have always been fascinated by the ocean, to dip a limb beneath its surface and know that I'm touching eternity, that it goes on forever until it begins here again.

We writers are resilient souls.

Her mind is a bird that's trapped inside her skull, flapping and thrashing, never breaking free.

Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.

He says to me, Ranulph, he says... that the past will never come again, but that we must remember that the past is made of the present, and that the present is always here.

This is a bad story.”“Sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”“No, you should, ” I say.“But—”“I don’t want there to be bad stories and me not know them.

It is important to be Intuitive at this time and allow the natural course to show you the way to the next step.

Start to laugh and everything will go well.

I always loved designing, but the context needs to be right, and have a positive perspective.

When you educate without the Holy Spirit, you only get a clever devil.

Nobody will leave any place unless they're forced out. That's the nature of humans. Once you're there, you're there. I've never seen anybody get up voluntarily and leave any place.

The man who votes for the saloon is pulling on the same rope with the devil, whether he knows it or not.

Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.

How would you behave if you were the best in the world at what you do?