[b]Neil Gaiman
There are new gods growing in America, clinging to growing knots of belief: gods of credit card and freeway, of Internet and telephone, of radio and hospital and television, gods of plastic and of beeper and of neon. Proud gods, fat and foolish creatures, puffed up with their own newness and importance. They are aware of us, they fear us, and they hate us, said Odin. You are fooling yourselves if you believe otherwise.[/b]
Not counting all the new gods since of course.
Be proud of your mistakes. Well, proud may not be exactly the right word, but respect them, treasure them, be kind to them, learn from them. And, more than that, and more important than that, make them. Make mistakes. Make great mistakes, make wonderful mistakes, make glorious mistakes. Better to make a hundred mistakes than to stare at a blank piece of paper too scared to do anything wrong.
On the other hand, are these real mistakes though?
The right song can turn an emperor into a laughingstock, can bring down dynasties.
Okay, let’s pick the one for Don Trump then.
…we have to worry about is all the other books, and, of course, life, which is huge and complicated and will not warn you before it hurts you.
Some day, he predicted, this would become a cliche.
I can believe things that are true and things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not.
Me too. As long as no one really knows what they are.
The best thing—in Shadow’s opinion, perhaps the only good thing—about being in prison was a feeling of relief. The feeling that he’d plunged as low as he could plunge and he’d hit bottom. He didn’t worry that the man was going to get him, because the man had got him. He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring, because yesterday had brought it.
Anyone care to run this by Zoot?