Know your number. If you don__ know it you might forget who you are.
Maybe we really are made of the same clay, maybe we really are condemned, blameless, to the same, identical mediocrity.
The Story of a New Name
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Maybe we really are made of the same clay, maybe we really are condemned, blameless, to the same, identical mediocrity.
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Revenge: it's a dream of flames fueled by scorched remains that are lit to a torch and brought back upon the one who burned you.
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Bill suited the action to the word, getting up and leaning over the handlebars and pumping the pedals at a lunatic rate. Looking at Bill's back, which was amazingly broad for a boy of eleven-going-on-twelve, watching it work under the duffel coat, the shoulders slanting first one way and then the other as he shifted his weight from one pedal to the other, Richie suddenly became sure that they were invulnerable...they would live forever and ever.
This isn__ how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to be me. Not this.
Blame is the creed of the disempowered.