Daniel Wallace Quotes

People were so cheap there ... they ate beans to save on bubble bath.

Heard it," I say.
"You were supposed to stop me," he says, clearly exhausted after the telling. "How many breaths do I have left? You don't want me to waste them on twice-told jokes, do you?

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In the land of the dying, sentences go unfinished, you know how they're going to end.

He had become simply Edward Bloom: Man. I'd caught him at a bad time in his life. And this was no fault of his own. It was simply that the world no longer held the magic that allowed him to live grandly within it. His

All of a sudden my arms were full of the most fantastic life, frenetic, impossible to hold on to even if I'd wanted to, and I wanted to. But then all I was holding was the blanket, because my father had jumped into the river. And that's when I discovered my father hadn't been dying after all. He was changing, transforming himself into something new and different to carry his life forward.

It was laid out much like any other town - thoughtlessly, and in haste. Here is where the rich people lived, and here the workers. This is where the white people shopped, and here was the special store for the Chinese, which had everything they could ever want, as long as they didn't want that much.

You lie to her, you lie to me, you lie to yourself. Blind girl blind you.

I'm not laughing. I'm not laughing at all. I'm doing the other thing.

How can the world be seen at such speeds? Where do people need to go so badly they can't realize what is already here, outside the car window?

Rachel tried to slap Mrs. Samuels when she said this, but she wasn't really sure where her face was and she missed, terribly.

There is an old Italian proverb about the nature of translation: "Traddutore, traditore!" This means simply, "Translators-traitors!" Of course, as you can see, something is lost in the translation of this pithy expression: there is great similarity in both the spelling and the pronunciation of the original saying, but these get diluted once they are put in English dress. Even the translation of this proverb illustrates its truth!

Because the Empire controls the media, we can turn any news to the Emperor's advantage.

This is what is meant by last words: they are keys to unlock the afterlife. They're not last words but passwords, and as soon as they're spoken you can go.

For Ming Kai's nose - which, like so many Chinese organs, was advanced beyond the reckoning of his Caucasian brother -

I think about this for a long time, secretly hoping he forgets he ever asked the question. His mind has a way of wandering, but something in the way he looks at me says he's not forgetting anything now, he's holding on tight to that thought, and he's waiting for my answer. I don't know what makes a man great. I've never thought about it before. But at a time like this "I don't know" just won't do. This is an occasion one rises to, and so I make myself as light as possible and wait for a lift. "I

In fact, after a while it was the machines I was looking at, not my father at all. They had become him. They were telling me his story. Which

Dreams are what keep a man going.

I think," I say after a while, waiting for the right words to come, "that if a man could be said to be loved by his son, then I think that man could be considered great." For this is the only power I have, to bestow upon my father the mantle of greatness, a thing he sought in the wider world, but one that, in a surprise turn of events, was here at home all along.

If it seems like he's going to die she'll call for me. This is how we talk. In the land of the dying, sentences go unfinished, you know how they're going to end. So

He believed in himself, believed in his quixotic ambition, letting the failures of the previous day disappear as each new day dawned. Yesterday was not today. The past did not predict the future if he could learn from his mistakes.

Because you and Al have all the truth with you over there. Don't know what I'm talking about, I guess. My apologies to you who knows better.

Edward didn't write any songs. For a long time he
didn't do anything. He looked at her, of course. He didn't
mind looking at her when she passed; looking brought its
own special excitement with it. It was as if she brought her
own light with her, because wherever she went, she
glowed. Who could explain that?
Edward liked to catch that glow once and a while.

I'd caught him at a bad time in his life. And this was no fault of his own. It was simply that the world no longer held the magic that allowed
him to live grandly within it.

He believed the stars were wishes, and that one day they would all come true.

This wasn't life, of course. This was life support. This was what the medical world had fashioned to take the place of Purgatory.

We are part of an energy larger than ourselves, and we play roles in a cosmic fabric that outstrip our incarnate understanding.

Dying, he has that look dying people get in their eyes sometimes, happy and sad, tired and spiritually blessed, all at the same time.

We all have stories, just as you do. Ways in which he touched us, helped us, gave us money, sold it to us wholesale. Lots of stories, big and small. They all add up. Over a lifetime it all adds up. That's why we're here, William. We're a a part of him, who he is, just as he is a part of us. You still don't understand, do you?"
I didn't. But as I stared at the man and he stared back at me, in my father's dream I remembered where we'd met before.
"And what did my father do for you?" I asked him, and the old man smiled.
"He made me laugh," he said.

Dreams are what keep a man going, William, and already your father was dreaming empire. But looking at him on the day he left that town he was born in, you would have seen little more than a young, handsome boy with nothing but the clothes on his back and the holes in his shoes. You might not have actually seen the holes in his shoes, but they were there, William; the holes were there. "That

When a man's stories are remembered, then he is immortal.

For how could he live with himself, if indeed he did live at all, knowing that his life was so inextricably bound to others, knowing that he was not his own man? "So,

To get better now would take more than a miracle; it would take a written excuse from Zeus himself, signed in triplicate and sent to every other deity who might lay claim to my father's withered body and soul.

Magic is dangerous: it's neither good nor bad, right nor wrong; it can be both a blessing and a curse. It takes strength, the strength of a man, to make the magic his own, to make it serve him, and not the other way around.

In Specter, history becomes what never happened. People mess things up, forget and remember all the wrong things. What's left is fiction.

It would be better for us to have some doubts in an honest pursuit of truth, than it would be for us to be certain about something that was not true.

What good is always being happy? Sadness hints at the possibility of a future reward.

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. What they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.

How do you know when it's me?"
"Your footsteps are apologetic?"
"What does that mean?"
She turned, smiling wiping her hands on her long, black skirt. "It doesn't mean anything," she said. "Everybody else here just does what they want to do and doesn't think twice about it. But you're never sure.