Quotes from Jonathan Carroll

She became my favorite scar.

The world can be divided between people who can get a waiter's attention and those who can't.

The trouble with wars is that they all look alike to people who aren't involved. Only the skin color of the dead is different.

Tell your mother the Law of Stolen Flight.' 'Only flame, and things with wings. All the rest suffer stings.

Chaos doesn't do, it undoes.

Time doesn't fly, it steals. Like some skilled pickpocket or magician, it gets you to look the other way and when you do, it ruthlessly steals your essential things—memories, great moments that end much too soon, the lives of those you love. It knows how to trick you and then steal you blind.

Only the guilty and the lovers really fear. The first because of what they are, the second for what they might lose.

Like a spider web that you walk into, it is not so easy to get all the tendrils of real love off after you have passed through it.

How does these things happen? How do we go mad in small ways and calmly work the madness into our everyday little exercises...? Little by little...

I've noticed most people are at their best during the day, in the light. Night fascinates you with its mystery and potential, but it's ominous too because things are easily hidden or lost in the dark, especially control. Most species I've encountered are powerless there. No matter where that dark is—inside or out—you are all at its mercy. It's harder to lose things and easier to find them, including yourself, in the light.

Most men think they are good drivers. Most women think they are good in bed. They aren't.

No one has ever been able to successfully map the coast of sorrow. It is not because of the jagged reefs, the treacherous fogs and shoals. Or because it's prone to ferocious storms and deadly tides that can eat a ship as easily as it can a man in the water. No one has ever been able to map the coast of sorrow because so much of it is invisible.

In the end, each of us has only one story to tell. It takes a lifetime to live that story but sometimes less than an hour to tell it. The

I wish I knew the flavor of my happiness.

guilt's a whore. It goes with anybody, but it's not good in bed. You're not dying, but this thing you've got with the girl is no different than my situation. We could both use up whole days feeling guilty 'bout what we didn't do in life, but why spend a day in bed with someone who doesn't give you any pleasure?

When I was younger, I had a girlfriend. She was like a thousand-dollar perfume—unique, gorgeous, but then gone much too soon.

Some people are more forgiving when they understand a situation, while others become even more furious once they see the whole picture.

Loving's not the question— living is. Love builds the house, but then you got to furnish it.

Quelli che ci amano possono essere divisi in due categorie: chi ci capisce e chi ci perdona i nostri peggiori peccati. Raramente riusciamo a trovare una persona capace di entrambe le cose.

Your story is your soul. The longer you're with someone, the more you trust them, the more you're willing to tell. I believe when you find your real partner, you tell them everything until there's nothing left. Then you start from the beginning again, only this time it's their story as well as yours.

Sometimes happiness is like the sound of a plane overhead. You look up to see it but the plane's not there. No matter where you look you can't find it on the sky, although the sound is still there and growing louder. You get a little frantic searching. At the same time you're thinking, this is stupid. But you keep looking and if you do finally see it, you feel absolved. Most of my life I'd been looking for happiness in the wrong parts of the sky.

Great sleep dreams seduce and sometimes torture. The best ones can almost break our heart when we awaken from them and find ourselves back…here.

It's easy to believe in yourself when you're lying, because you're talking about someone else

Night keeps its own sounds to itself because most of them come from the other side of silence.