Will Wiles Quotes

The age that had had the confidence and power to smash these lines through its own capital had apparently balked at tweaking God into compliance. Like the Islamic carpets that contain a deliberate flaw, the avenue was disrupted by the Divine.

My sensitive soul was no longer held down by heavy chains of duty and distraction -- it would now (I had theorized) take wing. But I was gripped by a kind of dull horror. Even in perfect conditions, I couldn't muster the perfect mood to be all that I wanted to be. I simply could not do it. If nothing was stopping me, what was stopping me?

Nothing snubs quite like a cat. What evolutionary purpose did it serve, this inherent disdain, this artful blanking?

There is a moment between sleeping and waking where one is free. Consciousness has returned, but awareness has yet to rip away the thin screen between the waker and his surroundings, his reality. You float free of context, in no place – not sleeping, not fully awake, not at the mercy of the unknowns of the subconscious, and not yet exposed to the dull knowns of care and routine. It is at this point, between two worlds, that I think I am happiest.

Furniture is like that. Used and enjoyed as intended, it absorbs the experience and exudes it back into the atmosphere, but if simply bought for effect and left to languish in a corner, it vibrates with melancholy. Furnishings in museums ... are as unspeakably tragic as the unvisited inmates of old folk's homes. The untuned violins and hardback books used to bring 'character' to postwar suburban pubs crouch uncomfortably in their imposed roles like caged pumas in a zoo. The stately kitchen that is never or rarely used to bring forth lavish feasts for appreciative audiences turns inward and cold.

People are the source of all chaos in life.

Gather enough data about a person and you can manipulate them, guide their choices, get them doing what you want, and they might not even know.

No one forgot how to play their instrument halfway through. No one ran amok in the audience. Nothing caught fire. Music played and I was so bored that my hair was bored.

I was woken by a shell-burst in the trench of sleep. Heart skipping, with eyes fighting light, my thoughts sprang up like a field of starlings startled by a farmer's gunshot, a thousand separate, autonomous specks that swirled into a single united black shape.

A room is not just a room. A room is a manifestation of a state of mind, the product of an intelligence. Either conscious ( ... ) or unconscious. We make our rooms, and then our rooms make us.