Joe Hill

[Lou]: ____ not talking about the angioplasty. I mean the stuff you__e pumping into me. What is it? Something serious?__Nurse]: __h. This is nothing. You__e not going under the knife today, so you don__ get the good shit. This is a blood-thinning agent. Also, it__l mellow you out. Got to keep the mellows going.__Lou]: __t__l put me to sleep?__Nurse]: __aster than a marathon of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman.

Everyone lives in two worlds,_ Maggie said, speaking in an absentminded sort of way while she studied her letters. __here__ the real world, with all its annoying facts and rules. In the real world, there are things that are true and things that aren__. Mostly the real world s-s-s-suh-sucks. But everyone also lives in the world inside their own head. An inscape, a world of thought. In a world made of thought__n an inscape__very idea is a fact. Emotions are as real as gravity. Dreams are as powerful as history. Creative people, like writers, and Henry Rollins, spend a lot of their time hanging out in their thoughtworld. S-s-strong creatives, though, can use a knife to cut the stitches between the two worlds, can bring them together. Your bike. My tiles. Those are our knives.

Fear does not incline people to be moderate in their use of extreme tactics.

She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.

You think you know someone. But mostly you just know what you want to know.

Death isn't the end of your life, you know. Your body is a lock. Death is the key. The key turns... and you're free. To be anywhere. Everywhere. Two places at once. Nowhere. Part of the background hum of the universe.

Wouldn__ be very fair to the rest of them, would it?_ Harper asked. __hey__e not bad people, most of them. All they want is to be safe.___sn__ that always a permission slip for ugliness and cruelty? All they want is to be safe, and they don__ care who they have to destroy to stay that way. And the people who want to kill us, the Cremation Crews, all they want is safety, too!

If books were girls and reading was s-ss-ssss-fucking, this would be the biggest whorehouse in the county and I'd be the most ruthless pimp you ever met. Whap the girls on the butts and send them off to their tricks as fast and often as I can.

It's because she doesn't love being lonely. When a girl loses her virginity, though, it may hurt, but it's real. It might be the realest, most private thing you could ever see in another person. You wonder who she'll be in that moment, when you finally get past all the pretend.

Carol says we speak with one voice. What she doesn't say is that voice belongs to HER. There's only one song to sing these days--Carol's song--and if you aren't in harmony, you can stick a stone in your mouth and shut the hell up.

Social media is teaching us that everyone fucks up, everyone is stupid sometimes, and that this is probably part of being a thinking human. The one exception are those who participate in the self-righteousness Olympics and they often turn people who agree with them against 'em.

Taking a thing apart is always faster than putting something together. This is true of everything except marriage.

One thing I realize now is that you only advertise your beliefs with a t-shirt if you're seriously insecure.

To be honest, I think cell phones were invented by the devil.

There's only room for one hero in this story-and everyone knows the devil doesn't get to be the good guy.

He had tried to explain the way he felt to Danny once, about compulsive behavior and time rushing too fast and the Internet and drugs. Danny had only lifted one of his slender, mobile eyebrows and stared at him in smirking confusion. Danny did not think coke and computers were anything alike. But Jude had seen the way people hunched over their screens, clicking the refresh button again and again, waiting for some crucial if meaningless hit of information, and he thought it was almost exactly the same.

Gold don't come off. What's good stays good no matter how much of a beating it takes.

Sillman looked at his interrogator with hopeless eyes. 'I think while I was passed out, I dreamed about my mom's gingerbread cookies. Maybe the guy who knocked on the glass was eatin' one.' 'Mm,' said Peace-not-War. 'Well. That's helpful. We'll put an APB out on the Gingerbread Man. I'm not hopeful it'll do us much good, though. Word on the street is you can't catch him.