A Quote by Mark Lawrence
I wanted to go home and if Hell rose up to stop me, it would make me desire it more.
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Longing surged up within me. I wanted it. Oh God, I wanted it. I didn't want to hear Jerome chastise me for my "all lowlifes, all the time" seduction policy. I wanted to come home and tell someone about my day. I wanted to go out dancing on the weekends. I wanted to take vacations together. I wanted someone to hold me when I was upset, when the ups and downs of the world pushed me too far. I wanted someone to love.
When I was growing up they didn't want me to do it because my mother was a teacher - they wanted me to go to school. But I love football and wanted to play - they wanted to stop me but couldn't. They wouldn't allow me to play out after school but I went out anyway. Maybe I lost a bit of focus on my studies.
People would ask me, 'Is he as funny at home as he is in the movies?' ... I would have to answer, 'Well, he can be funny. But he is also very serious. He has insomnia and if we him up early, he would bawl the hell out of me'.
In the old days they, the promoters, wanted more and more from me. They wanted me to jump or spill my blood and break my bones. Every time they wanted me to jump further, and further, and further. Hell, they thought my bike had wings.
Everything I pick up seems to lure me away. Everything I do in my daily life begins to feel like striking wet matches. The need to travel is a mysterious force. A desire to 'go' runs through me equally with an intense desire to 'stay' at home. An equal and opposite thermodynamic principle. When I travel, I think of home and what it means. At home I'm dreaming of catching trains at night in the gray light of Old Europe, or pushing open shutters to see Florence awaken. The balance just slightly tips in the direction of the airport.
We were in front of a live audience and I would be acting with the man who was playing my lover, and we used those words, and the audience would titter and laugh, and make me uncomfortable doing the scenes. ... I wanted to sort of stop and yell at them, "What's so funny? What's the matter with you people? Grow up!" It made me very self-conscious at times.
Heaven or Hell? You make it seem as if that's an easy choice to make. Sitting there in heaven watching others burn, and I can't do anything to help? That in itself would be hell for me. I'd be up there fighting god and his angels to let me out, so that I can come down and at least try to help. I am a moral person. Heaven is for uncaring Hypocrites.
Anybody who doesn't have fear is an idiot. It's just that you must make the fear work for you. Hell when somebody shot at me, it made me madder than hell, and all I wanted to do was shoot back.
I saw you, and I wanted to be close to you. I wanted you to let me in. I wanted to know you in a way no one else did. I wanted you, all of you. That wanting nearly drove me mad.” Patch paused, inhaling softly, as though breathing me in. “And now that I have you, the only thing that terrifies me is having to go back to that place. Having to want you all over again, with no hope of my desire ever being fulfilled. You’re mine, Angel. Every last piece of you. I won’t let anything change that.
There are times when you see the news, and you go, "How the hell am I meant to do anything tonight?" I'm not good at compartmentalizing myself and not being affected by the world around me, so it was very difficult for me when atrocious news stories would pop up. And I would think, "How the hell am I supposed to talk to the skeleton about the horse tonight?"
I had wondered for a long time why God had preferences and why all souls did not receive an equal amount of grace [...] Jesus saw fit to enlighten me about this mystery. He set the book of nature before me and I saw that all the flowers He has created are lovely. The splendor of the rose and whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. I realized that if every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness and there would be no wild flowers to make the meadows gay.
But after a few minutes of convincing myself that I really wanted to go - telling myself that I love skating and that my coach is there waiting for me - I would get up and go. And my mother would always get up and eat breakfast with me!
Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?But am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn't talk? If you say so I'll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult.
My mother was an extraordinary theater actor in Canada, and when I would finish school, I would go to the theater. I would do my homework, we would have dinner there, she would do her play, and then me and my sister would go home. So I grew up in it that way.
I was new, and it was like that movie "Mean Girls". This clique would tease me and make up rumors about me being gay. I don't even know why they did it. I came home crying one day and told my mom I couldn't be around them anymore. So we decided I would be homeschooled. I think it's important to check in with yourself and make sure you are being exactly who you want to be. When I am true to who I am, I'm a better girfriend. I'm just more happy being me.
From the bottom of my heart, I wanted to give up; I wanted to give up on living. There was no denying that tomorrow would come, and the day after tomorrow, and so next week, too. I never thought it would be this hard, but I would go on living in the midst of a glomy depression, and that made me feel sick to the depths of my soul. In spite of the tempest raging within me, I walked the night path calmly.
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