Quotes About Reflection

I want to tell you this story without having to be in it

and then the question behind every question: What happens next?

We could pull it apart, spend our whole lives pulling it apart and have no time left to do anything smart with the pieces.

You see it as a room, a tabernacle, the dark hotel. You're in the hallway again, and you open the door, and if you're ready you'll see it, but maybe one part of your mind decides that the other parts aren't ready, and then you don't remember where you've been

To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.

Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later.

Here is my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated cities at the center of me, and here is the center of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we can drink from, but I can't go through with it. I just don't want to die anymore.

To be a bird, or a flock of birds doing something together, one or many, starling or murmuration. To be a man on a hill, or all the men on all the hills, or half a man shivering in the flock of himself.

It could have been so beautiful . . . how it was and how it will be, memory and fantasy

What can you know about a person? They shift in the light. You can't light up all sides at once. Add a second light and you get a second darkness, it's only fair. He is looking at the wall and I am looking at his looking. Difficult thing, to be scrutinized so long. I find parts that overlap with mine and light them up in clays and creams, yellow music singing pink, the flicker of his mouth a purple rust.

Every story has its chapter in the desert, the long slide from kingdom to kingdom through the wilderness, where you learn things, where you're left to your own devices.

The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night is thinking. It's thinking of love.

But the minutes don't stop. The prayer of going nowhere going nowhere.

Looking back is easy for a while and then looking back gets murky.

I've seen your true face: the back of your head. If you were walking away, keep walking.

I want to tell you this story without having to confess anything … I want to tell you this story without having to be in it

You were driving toward something and then, well, then you found yourself driving the other way.

History throws its shadow over the beginning

Something has happened in the paint tonight and it is worth keeping.

Everyone in this room got here somehow and everyone in this room will have to leave. So what's left? Sing a song about the room we're in?

And here is the tabernacle reconstructed.

We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things.

There's nowhere to go , I thought. There's nowhere to go.

You asked me once, What are we made of? Well, these are the things we're made of. One house, two house. The road goes away from here.