shades

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.

The car housed a hysterical bumper sticker: Save the Planet, and I permitted a moment of contemplation to truly bask in this thought. Save the planet? What a joke. Save the planet from what? From ourselves? And save it for what? For ourselves? It was a kind of perpetual stupidity in a tug-of-war battle over trivial matters. Only imbeciles see things in black and white: liberal or conservative, yes or no, this or that. Those in power laugh at those people in their morally inverted shades of grey, basking in the labels they've created so the people are easier to control.

For grey matter, there is no black and white. If you think in black and white, then you do not use enough brain functions.

Winters are a desolate time where all senses are wiped away, and here in Canada, this is especially true. All smells are sucked clean from the air, leaving only a harsh, icy crispness. Colours are stripped away, leaving a stark white landscape, a sky which stays black at night and gray in the day, a world of only three shades. Stay outside too long, and your hands will get so cold that they__l go numb and turn red, like the claws of a lobster. During a whiteout, even sight itself is reduced to nothingness.

If we don__ live in the same vibe, it is hard to be aware of each other. When our reading differs from our neighbors_ reality, our surroundings may take a range of discordant shades and daily episodes become unrecognizable. But if we endeavor to find out, the __ho is who_, the __hat is what_ and the __here is Waldo_, we might demonstrate our social literacy and connectedness. ("Fish for silence.")

Although I don't know much about anything, I know that I have a story. I know that it is not over. There are shades and shadows of adventures and people and wild new places. Whatever Paris might turn out to be, and whatever Dr. Epstein is able to do, I want to be there to find out.

How easily such a thing can become a mania, how the most normal and sensible of women once this passion to be thin is upon them, can lose completely their sense of balance and proportion and spend years dealing with this madness.

As her feet beat the concrete ground beneath them, her chest began to ache. It had been a long time since she had run at a full sprint. She was, quite literally, running for her life, and leaving everything she had known before behind. Regardless of her past experiences, here she was, blindly following a girl, who was virtually a stranger, because she had promised to lead Eleanor to safety.

Here we go,_ Phoenix said, turning back to Nora. __ry not to let this room scare you.

My dream is to create something so beautiful that it encourages people to present the best version of themselves to me everywhere I go.

Cherish your existence, for memories become legacies and life can change in an instant.

Eternity will not cause our memories to fade, it will force our hearts to accept the past.

If you feel like you don't fit into the world you inherited it is because you were born to help create a new one.

Every decision you make in life will stem from one of two options: love or fear. Choose love.

To completely understand me you must first accept that I am not you.

To struggle against the weight of sleep as reality eclipses the moon of your dreams is the purest sign of true love.

Eleanor had heard talk of the rebellion that existed inside the city of Constance before. Most of the information she gathered was considered an old fairy tale by the general public. There were a few stories here and there about people angered by their present living conditions, who had demanded that the center of Constance be held responsible for it. However, information was never passed between the five different sectors. Over the years the tales of the rebellion had become children__ bedtime stories, and people did not take them seriously.

Try to think of it as though we are rewriting history___he first time this experience occurred you and I never kissed in this Dream Machine room. But now when we leave here, and open our eyes again near the wall around the center of Constance, that kiss will be included in our memories of the day we first met. We could spend a lifetime recreating this moment here, meanwhile, not a single second of our lives would slip by back in our reality. Time seems to move differently inside of our memories.