#long quote
Because everything changes. Nothing stays the same for long. The minute you’re used to something, the minute you think, “oh, this is how life is,” life finds a way of surprising you. You never know what life is gonna throw at you. And you have two choices: Run from it… or run at it.
~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat
“I don’t think I have the words to explain how much you mean to me. You’ve helped me more than any other person has ever in my entire life. The long walks to nowhere, the long nights of laughing at what seems like nothing and everything, the pep talks, the ego checks. I haven’t many people close, but I’m happy I let you in. You never fail to slap me in the face with reality when I need or deserve it, nor do you hesitate to give me a helping hand when it’s obvious that I can’t do it on my own. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
I love you”
- colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat
“It’s okay.
Saving me was never your job anyway.”
~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat
It’s weird to think that in this very moment someone is lying alone in their deathbed, balancing between life and death or reuniting with an old lover, tightly wrapped in a warm embrace or writing a suicide note, pondering different ways to say goodbye, right in this moment someone’s heart is fluttering from a first kiss and someone’s is breaking from a goodbye.
~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat
“Do you ever get that feeling when you’re sitting in your room alone, your thoughts wander, you’re not crying but you just feel sad and empty, replaying moments from your life and wondering. Where did it all go wrong?”
~ colorfulbiscuithandsdiplomat
“I already said too much. I already shared too much, and I want all my secrets back. I hate getting close to people these days, I always regret sharing too much, caring too much, doing too much, feeling too much.”
Andthenhe realized why he was thinking like this.
It was because he wanted there to be conspirators. It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over the brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn’t then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things.
Terry Pratchett,Jingo
“Now, this is a soldier’s song, see? You don’t look like soldiers but by the gods I’ll see you sounds like ‘em! You’ll pick it up as we goes along! Right turn! March! 'All the little angels rise up, rise up, all the little angels rise up high!’ Sing it, you sons of mothers!”
The marchers picked up the response from those who knew it.
“How do they rise up, rise up, rise up, how do they rise up, rise up high? They rise headsup,headsup,heads up–” sang out Dickens as they turned the corner.
Vimes listened as the refrain died away.
“That’s a nice song,” said young Sam, and Vimes realized that he was hearing it for the first time.
“It’s an old soldier’s song,” he said.
“Really, Sarge? But it’s about angels.”
Yes, thought Vimes, and it’s amazing what bits those angels cause to rise up as the song progresses. It’s a realsoldiers’ song: sentimental, with dirty bits.
“As I recall, they used to sing it after battles,” he said. “I’ve seen old men cry when they sing it,” he added.
“Why? It sounds cheerful.”
They were remembering who they were not singing it with, thought Vimes. You’ll learn. I knowyou will.
Terry Pratchett, Night Watch
“It’s the version my grandmother taught me,” said Oats.
“She was keen on crushing infidels?”
“Well, mainly I think she was in favor of crushing Mrs. Ahrim next door, but you’ve got the right idea, yes. She thought the world would be a better place with a bit more crushing and smiting.”
“Prob'ly true.”
“Not as much smiting and crushing as she’dlike, though, I think,” said Oats. “A bit judgmental, my grandmother.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Judging is human.”
“We prefer to leave it ultimately to Om,” said Oats and, out here in the dark, that statement sounded lost and all alone.
“Bein’ human means judgin’ all the time,” said the voice behind him. “This and that, good and bad, making choices every day…that’s human.”
“And are you so sure you make the right decisions?”
“No. But I do the best I can.”
“And hope for mercy, eh?”
The bony finger prodded him in the back.
“Mercy’s a fine thing, but judgin’ comes first. Otherwise you don’t know what you’re bein’ merciful about.”
Terry Pratchett, Carpe Jugulum
