You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead if it makes you feel any better. I'm an easy target. Yeah, you're right. I talk too much. I also listen too much. I could be a cold-hearted cynic like you, but I don't like to hurt people's feelings. Well, you think what you want about me. I'm not changing. I like me. My wife likes me. My customers like me. 'Cause I'm the real article. What you see is what you get.
Perhaps we have been misguided into taking too much responsibility from our children, leaving them too little room for discovery
I had bill collectors chasing me. We were skipping from town to town, not leaving forwarding addresses. The agent couldn't find me when he sold my book. He finally found me.
Before we left town, Antonio pulled into a strip mall and went in to get subs and salads, leaving Clay and me half naked and bleeding in the car, and Cain unconscious in the trunk. No wonder I was anxious to get back to Toronto. Spend too much time around these guys and you become a little too nonchalent about blood-soaked clothes and bodies in the trunk
I don't let it bother me too much if someone doesn't like me. I just figure there's no accounting for taste. It's not me, it's my acting. It's like if someone doesn't like someone's food, they just don't like my acting.
Okay, if this is what falling in love feels like, someone please kill me now. (Not literally, overzealous readers.) But it was all too much - too much emotion, too much happiness, too much longing, perhaps too much ice cream.
So you scream from behind your door, say what's mine is mine, and not yours
I may have too much, but I'll take my chances
Cause God's stopped keeping score
And you cling to the things they sold you
Didn't you cover your eyes when they told you that he can't come back
Cause he has no children to come back for
It so hard to learn, there's so much to hate
Hanging on to hope when there is no hope to speak of
And the wounded skies above say it's much too late
So maybe we should all be praying for time
I'd like to think there'll be too much of real life going on for me to want to do much acting.
I like acting too much and it's too, I'm just too busy doing that and I'm too hungry for it, to get behind the camera. I mean, unless I could act in it, too. I don't think I've got the right brain. I'm too disorganized.
This is like the town council just hired a new marshal to clean up the town, I guarantee you, if I stay here long enough, they'll get rid of me, too.
I prefer the things around town. I'm not one for going out of town too much.
Educated folk keep to one another's company too much, leaving other people much like milk skimmed of its cream.
How are children supposed to learn to act like adults, when so much of what they see on television shows adults acting like children?
Skid marks all across my brain, cause you're leaving me with so much pain. I was pretty sure that you could be the one, now it is evident that it was hit and run.
...all I have to do is stay in between the lines and make sure that no one is too close to me and I am not too close to anyone and keep leaving. Maybe it felt like this for her, too, but I could never feel like this alone.
I first read Wendell Berry's short-story collections, "Fidelity" and then "Watch with Me." They just knocked my socks off. The characters and the fellowship of the small town reminded me of my own small town in Illinois.Then I discovered that, much like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, that all of Berry's fiction was centered in this same town.