Chrysten Lofton

“justice is just another stupid dream. All there is is luck, and mettle. But luck’s where it’s really at. The grim reaper’s always rolling those bones.”
― Stephen Graham Jones, The Angel of Indian Lake

“Can they..." said Jim. "I mean...do they buy souls?" "Buy, when they can get them free?" said Mr. Halloway. "Why, most men jump at the chance to give up everything for nothing. There's nothing we're so slapstick with as our own immortal souls.”
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

“How much of all this got through? One sentence out of five, two out of eight?"
"Three in a thousand,"' said Will.”
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes

“Why weep at strangers dead by the road? They resemble friends unseen in forty years. Why laugh when clowns are hit by pies? We taste custard, we taste life. Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience. Billions of prickling textures. Cut one sense away, cut part of life away. Cut two senses; life halves itself on the instant. We love what we know, we love what we are. Common cause, common cause, common cause of mouth, eye, ear, tongue, hand, nose, flesh, heart, and soul.
But...how to say it?
“Look,” he tried, “put two men in a rail car, one a soldier, the other a farmer. One talks war, the other wheat; and bore each other to sleep. But let one spell long-distance running, and if the other once ran the mile, why, those men will run all night like boys, sparking a friendship up from memory.”
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes