Citati iz knjige „American Gods“ autora Neil Gaiman

Every hour wounds. The last one kills.
There are stories that are true, in which each individual’s tale is unique and tragic, and the worst of the tragedy is that we have heard it before, and we cannot allow ourselves to feel it too deeply.
Every hour wounds. The last one kills.

And now I’m not the only person who thinks that

“So you aren’t American?” asked Shadow.
“Nobody’s American,” said Wednesday. “Not originally. That’s my point.”
People only fight over imaginary things.
He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring, because yesterday had brought it.
“I worship you with my body,” he whispers, as she pushes him inside her. Her labia pull slickly across his face, and his eyes slip into darkness.
but he said nothing. It seemed the smartest thing to say.
I thought she was my best friend,” said Audrey. “We’d talk every day. When Robbie and I had a fight, she’d be the first one to know—we’d go down to Chi-Chi’s for margaritas and to talk about what scumpots men can be. And all the time she was fucking him behind my back.”
“Please go away, Audrey.”
“I just want you to know I had good reason for what I did.”
He said nothing.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”
Shadow turned. “Do you want me to tell you that you were right when you spit in Laura’s face? Do you want me to say it didn’t hurt? Or that what you told me made me hate her more than I miss her? It’s not going to happen, Audrey.”
She drove beside him for another minute, not saying anything. Then she said, “So, how was prison, Shadow?”
“It was fine,” said Shadow. “You would have felt right at home.”
It’s what people do. They believe. And then they will not take responsibility for their beliefs; they conjure things, and do not trust the conjurations. People populate the darkness; with ghosts, with gods, with electrons, with tales. People imagine, and people believe: and it is that belief, that rock-solid belief, that makes things happen.
We draw our lines around these moments of pain, and remain upon our islands, and they cannot hurt us.
What I say is, a town isn’t a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it’s got a bookstore, it knows it’s not foolin’ a soul
Tonight, as you eat, reflect if you can: there are children starving in the world, starving in numbers larger than the mind can easily hold, up in the big numbers where an error of a million here, a million there, can be forgiven. It may be uncomfortable for you to reflect upon this or it may not, but still, you will eat.
If you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made.
distant beam of hope,
“Let me tell you somethin’,” said Mr. Nancy. “It can be a long time between meals. Someone offers you food, you say yes. I’m no longer young as I was, but I can tell you this, you never say no to the opportunity to piss, to eat, or to get half an hour’s shut-eye. You follow me?”
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.

About prison

If you move and act in the material world, then the material world acts on you. Pain hurts, just as greed intoxicates and lust burns.
In this case, a Frenchwoman, although, in deference to American sensibilities, the French covered
the Spanish Prisoner, the Pigeon Drop, the Fawney Rig (that’s the Pigeon Drop but with a gold ring instead of a wallet), the Fiddle Game…

Испанский Заключенный, Падение Голубей, Пират Фоун (это Падение Голубей, но с золотым кольцом вместо кошелька), Игра Скрипач…

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