There followed one of those comical interludes in which the jihadists were confused about what to do next and fell to bitter recriminations.

An object is not first imagined or thought about and then expected or willed, but in being actively expected it is imagined as future and in being willed it is thought.

One’s story isn’t a skin to be shed— it’s inescapable, one’s body and blood. You go on pumping it out till you die, the story veined with the themes of your life, the ever-recurring story that’s at once your invention and the invention of you.

Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.

Written By Mark Twain

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links