Lucky Star

Time is not constant. Time in stories least of all. Anyone can fall asleep and lose generations in their dreams. There are times when all the stories that are folded into this one can be shaken out and let loose, but until then, like the lives of saints, more is contained than can be revealed. The world itself will roll up like a scroll taking time and space away. All stories end here.

There are people who will be whisked away in closed cars to comfortable beds. The rest of us will search for the bus. Luggage. Heaven or hell in the hereafter will be luggage or the lack of it. The ones who recognized that love is enough and that possessions are borrowed pastimes, will float free through the exit sign, their arms ready to hug their friends, their toothbrush in their pocket. The one who stayed up late, gathering and gathering like demented bees, will find that you can take it with you. The joke is that you have to carry it yourself.

The moon and the white clouds at the window. How many times have I seen it before? Perhaps it is true that the world is made new again every day but our minds are not. The clamp that holds me will not let me go.

How shall i live? I was living wasn't I?

lucky star (2008)

I dreamed I was a single moment in a single day.

Quotes _ jeanette winterson

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