Andrew Fleig

There's a certain kind of vulnerability that comes with touching someone's blood. ◆ Writing happens in the margins – between obligations, beside a sleeping cat, in the hour before rest. ◆

This is what gets lost in our desire for memorable phrases, for stories that read nice. The messy humanity. ◆ Intimacy is not built through exposure, but through trust. ◆

What we see now in protests, in cultural revolution, in graduation speeches is not a failure of understanding but a failure of imagination. ◆

By the time you notice the fog, it's already inside of your lungs. ◆ Time, as it was, would come to keep two sets of records. ◆ All he really is is in a state of grace. ◆

We evolved to empathize with those we love struggling through addiction, to hear the grief peeking through voices, to calm the storm of a ship that's washed at our shore, to be a craftsman of our own loving. ◆

The love that was never spoken still lives in the space between two people, too close to touch each other, who learned that some things are too sacred to survive being named. ◆

It is Hokusai, painting, searching for the beauty of a moment he hadn't witnessed, mad with the ache of almost. ◆ It tempts us into silence. Into thinking that if we cannot shout over the noise, we may as well have nothing to say. ◆

The music poured in at their ears and ran down their heels, and instead of marching they literally danced their way along. ◆ A failure to imagine another's humanity with the same vividness with which we imagine our own. ◆

Some mornings are just mornings, the ones we use to sift through other people's folders, their images, our idolatry, yes, but they are just mornings. ◆ There is something further, stronger, lying beneath our feet unseen but shaking as if to push us forward. ◆

And there is nothing to look forward to but tomorrow. ◆ Powell turned to the one friend he knew best – the keys. ◆ An opinion formed too quickly collapses complexity; one formed slowly begins to resemble understanding. ◆

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