limbo

It howled execration upon the dim camarine world of its nativity wail on wail while he lay there gibbering with palsied jawhasps, his hands putting back the night like some witless Paraclete beleaguered with all limbo's clamor.

The limbo of life is like a song, a melody that comes around occasionally but that sticks in your head and never goes away.

One reason we're not winning the fight against depression is that our available treatments leave so many in partial recovery limbo.

They were both from the real world, their own distinct ones, but I was somewhere in limbo. Set apart, I didn't know how to let either of them in.

The hardest part of letting go is the "uncertainty"--when you are afraid that the moment you let go of someone you will hate yourself when you find out how close you were to winning their affection. Every time you give yourself hope you steal away a part of your time, happiness and future. However, once in a while you wake up to this realization and you have to hold on tightly to this truth because your heart will tear away the foundation of your logic, by making excuses for why this person doesn't try as much as you. The truth is this: Real love is simple. We are the ones that make it complicated. A part of disconnecting is recognizing the difference between being desired and being valued. When someone loves you they will never keep you waiting, give their attention and affection away to others, allow you to continue hurting, or ignore what you have gone through for them. On the other hand, a person that desires you can't see your pain, only what they can get from you with minimal effort in return. They let you risk everything, while they guard their heart and reap the benefits of your feelings. We make so many excuses for the people we fall in love with and they make up even more to remain one foot in the door. However, the truth is God didn't create you to be treated as an option or to be disrespected repeatedly. He wants you to close the door. If someone loves you and wants to be in your life no obstacle will keep them from you. Remember, you are royalty, not a beggar.

You think the final act of love is setting them free to Rainbow Bridge? That is not the final act of love. The final act of love is releasing them from your leash of grief so they can be free in the heaven on the other side of the Bridge. Until you resolve your grief, you bind them to you in the land between Heaven and Earth while they wait, suspended between the worlds, for you to heal. When you are free of your grief, they are free of your grief.

Sometimes chaos is the very thing that deliberately shakes up our neatly ordered world__ in order to get us out of the neatly ordered ruts that have kept us stuck.

Live your life. The reset button has been pushed.

A woman could do a lot of crazy things for a pair of fine-looking dimples.

There was nothing like the cold, heavy steel of a gun, the soft moan of an appreciative woman or the sharp burn of a good single malt to make a man grateful to be alive. Tonight, with his gun gone and his sex life a wasteland, Dash had to settle for whiskey.

When I came out into the outside room again, I saw her shoe still lying there, where it had come off in the course of our brief wrestle. It looked so pathetic there by itself without an owner, it looked so lonely, it looked so empty. Something made me pick it up arid take it in to her. Like when someone's going away, you help them on with their coat, or their jackboots, or whatever it is they need for going away.I didn't try to put it back on her, I just set it down there beside her close at hand. You're going to need this, I said to her in my mind. You're starting on a long walk. You're going to keep walking from now on, looking for your home.I stopped and wondered for a minute if that was what happened to all of us when we crossed over. Just keep walking, keep on walking, with no ahead and no in-back-of; tramps, vagrants in eternity. With our last hope and horizon - death - already taken away.In the Middle Ages they had lurid colors, a bright red hell, an azure heaven shot with gold stars. They knew where they were, at least. They could tell the difference. We, in the Twentieth, we just have the long walk, the long walk through the wispy backward-stringing mists of eternity, from nowhere to nowhere, never getting there, until you're so tired you almost wish you were alive again. ("Life Is Weird Sometimes" - first chapter of unpublished novel THE LOSER)

Maybe heaven was innocence, limbo was ignorance, and hell was fiery illumination.

Pye turned his paw over and chewed his claws. __umph. What you think of me is none of my business.___ou don__ know, do you?___now more than you . . . Know what?___ou are dead.__ye patted his paws. __o, I__ not._ He rolled on his back and stretched, enjoying the warmth of the fire.____e been here since 1665.__ye chuckled. __ou are, if I may so, in remarkably good condition._ Apart from the hole in your head, missing tail, and pulmonic plague cough.____e seen them come. Seen them go. Seem them hang around in limbo. That__ what it__ called when beings don__ leave this Earth.___urgatory!___ am responsible for many deaths,_ Rita said.__ou!?___hey couldn__ build the graves fast enough to bury the bodies.___ don__ understand how a mere stump-tailed fur ball could endanger life.___f I were you I'd think that._ A silence followed before Rita said, __ did not work alone.___h?

The step that we are on is only a step to the next place, and no step regardless of how massive is ever a destination.