F.K. Preston Quotes

My creativity keeps me from starving. Humanity keeps my life mundane. Loving secures my love for life, but my imagination keeps me sane.

All that is required of you is an open mind and a little patience.

You can't stumble into an adventure. An artist must dance, not walk, in order to inspire their audience. This patient audience who has witnessed all that you've ever performed. So don't be shy. Just dance. Set this scene into motion.

The problem with creations is that they'll never understand their true value. It's the same with parents and children. The mother knows her daughter is important but she does not voice this fact. So the daughter will constantly wonder what her worth is. She will forever look to the mother for reassurance. The mother thinks the daughter is clingy. The daughter thinks the mother is cold. The truth is that they don't communicate with one another. They just assume. And so they assume themselves into resentment. Where they never speak. They never listen. They die wondering why what they gave was never enough. Thankfully this is easily fixed. All that is required is an open mind and a little patience. But who the hell's got time for that?

The truth is there isn't anything to me at all. All I know is that I can't sleep well, I can't dream well and I'm quite in love with you. That's all there is to me. My greatest feature is my admiration for you. I know it's not healthy. Like my insomnia. Like my dreamless nights. You make living alright. My nightmares come when I think of a night without Valeria. That's when I realise you're dead. That's when I remember you've been gone for years. That's when I remember I'm awake. And I wait for this dream called Life to leave me to my peace once and for all and forever.

No one ever claimed that creating art was simple. But they failed to mention the mess.

Idle living turns me into an idiot. I can't afford to get stupid. I've already been irritating. I've used up my passes on personality flaws.

Two dreams and a cup of coffee later.

We are not bound by time. But there are things we cannot speak of because the repercussions of particular thoughts can break lives.

The world didn't end with a whimper or a bang. Your life finished in complete silence. Gone in a blink. And then there was nothing.

Where do they go, these dreams of mine? Do they live? Do they die? Do they fall? Do they fly?

Dreams are memories.
Memories are dreams.
But my time with you hasn't become a dream just yet.
Because the sensation of your kisses
keep me from sleep.
I'm in love,
God help me, I'm in love.

Honestly, I don't know what I would recommend from this story. Perhaps it is this: if you have the choice to laugh or do nothing, you might as well laugh.

I am a deeply uncertain individual. I often find myself acting like a fool to make the people around me laugh. When they're laughing, they're not watching me quite as closely. I smile to put people at ease. But what if I opened my mouth one day, spoke my actual thoughts, and the people glared at my opinions? What if they thought me disgusting or frightening or ugly because of my words? Would you keep your lips shut for the rest of your life to not face that judgment? Just for the sake of someone else's comfort? For these strangers, who I will never know? If I can't speak then I'll write. These strangers, whose opinions crush me, will be forced to listen. Because when they read my words those words will make a home within their heads. They may even end up using my own opinions against me. But at least I'll be hidden behind the pages of a book.

The belief in their actions can mend constellations. The ambition in their thirst for knowledge can both create and destroy.

I wanted to give you something that would last forever. Something that would surpass the world, that would still be alive and bright even after you passed away. Something beautiful. For your eyes and smile only. But I never found it. All I could give you is words. Words which were as fleeting as the heartbeats that shook my soul whenever you looked my way.

I wish I could run into the world's arms. Linger within the spaces between nothing. I wish I could filter out of existence. To live quietly without dying. I wish I could be cherished by life itself. To speak and sing volumes without lying to myself.

People omit the truth all the time. But inevitably you'll be forced to make something up to hide the absence of your honesty. Did you get into the game already a liar? Or was it something you made yourself into along the way?

My darling Prometheus, you failed at being human. It's such a simple thing to be human. You didn't understand that you never had to be any good at it. You simply had to try. The modern Prometheus. I feel your inadequacy under my skin. Crawling like worms. You possessed that love and rage indeed. Entertain away, dear Monster. Frankenstein forced you into humanity. Tried to make you a man. That was his first mistake. You should have aimed for the Gods.

My sister lived in the moment. She said she would love the summer only when it came and warmed her. But I lived and still live in the future. Where it's warm when it's cold. Where dreams are not yet reality. Where the sad people are happy. The only problem with living in the future is that everyone has died, including yourself. So your plans are fiction and your predictions are fantasy. Living in the future is pure fantasy. I think that's why I love it so dearly.

I keep dying and hoping you notice me. But you're too busy living.

Four years ago the clocks started turning back. I open my eyes and see nothing. I feel nothing below or above me. I feel the absence of things. The absence of my flesh, my bones, my body, my mind. All that is left is awareness. I see nothing but the absence of colour. It's not a black darkness. It's simply nothing. The interior of a black hole. I recall news of a black hole lingering along the edges of our solar system. All that time ago. Four years ago. When the clocks started turning back. I hear nothing. Until there is a something. A small thing. A voice. I listen. There are more voices. The sounds are human. How long has it been since I've heard a human? The sounds scratch along my now present attention. They carve into my hearing. They are horrid, wretched things. Voices screaming. Growing loud and desperate. How many voices? Billions. This is the birth of our species. We are born screaming. It's all we know to do. We have screamed for eternity. Within this empty space.

There are no humans left. I should not be alone. I can't help but wonder that. There were so many of us living. But time started growing young four years ago. It isn't four years anymore. It's a number I wouldn't even be able to say. It feels like four years. It's trapped in my tender memory as four years. It's been an age. Multiple ages. It's been lifetimes; every single lifetime that used to exist. I remember my mother screaming. I recall the doctors naming me as nurses wiped away her blood and covered her face with white. The end of the play. It's been so long. Why am I alone?

Life's a circle. There are no lines we can cross.

Dreams are memories we've lost to sleep.

What is infinity? I haven't a clue.
But maybe that's the whole point I've been attempting to explain to you.
The fact that it's not known
Or seen
Or heard.
Infinity is every person, every being, every bird.
Infinity is a simple mystery.
It looks like a mystery.
Tastes mysterious.
Feels like something completely delirious.
We cannot imagine what this sound could be.
All we can imagine is infinity.