Will Walker
Will Walker
William Walker may refer to:...
heartbreak grief loss
Since grief only aggravates your loss, grieve not for what is past.
hatred library world
Whenever I feel bad, I go to the library and read controversial periodicals. Though I do not know whether I am a liberal or a conservative, I am nevertheless enlivened by the hatred which one bears the other. In fact, this hatred strikes me as one of the few signs of life remaining in the world.
sadness cities knows
Nobody but a Southerner knows the wrenching rinsing sadness of the cities of the North.
men people doe
I have discovered that most people have no one to talk to, no one, that is, who really wants to listen. When it does at last dawn on a man that you really want to hear about his business, the look that comes over his face is something to see.
coffee mean home
Ooooh," Kate groans, Kate herself now. "I'm so afraid." "I know." "What am I going to do?" "You mean right now?" "Yes." "We'll go to my car. Then we'll drive down to the French Market and get some coffee. Then we'll go home." "Is everything going to be all right?" "Yes." "Tell me. Say it." "Everything is going to be all right.
loss risk gains
Where there is chance of gain, there is also chance of loss. Whenever one courts great happiness, one also risks malaise.
losing losing-hope hiding
Losing hope is not so bad. There's something worse: losing hope and hiding it from yourself.
life-is fit
Life is fits and starts, mostly fits.
people steps roles
It makes people nervous for one to step out of one's role.
giving-up ambition ordinary
But there is much to be said for giving up ... grand ambitions and living the most ordinary life imaginable.
sadness joy turns
Joy and sadness come by turns.
fiction stories novel
A novel is what you call something that won't sell if you call it poems or short stories.
time lying past
The mystery lies in the here and now. The mystery is: What is one to do with oneself? As you get older you begin to realize the trick time is playing, and that unless you do something about it, the passage of time is nothing but the encroachment of the horrible banality of the past on the pure future. The past devours the future like a tape recorder, converting pure possibility into banality. The present is the tape head, the mouth of time. Then where is the mystery and why bother kicking through the ashes? Because there is a clue in the past.
class categories
Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?