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Quote by Chelsea Abdullah

“What if?" he asked himself. What if, instead of sneaking away from his responsibilities, he had faced them? What if, instead of caving to his father's demands, he had fought against them? Mazen would never know. The past was the past, a story already told, and though he could certainly weave it into a different tale, it would not change the reality.”

Quote by Chelsea Abdullah

Book:The Ashfire King
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The Ashfire King

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Chelsea Abdullah

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“Modern thought, with its distrust of anything that escapes rational analysis, has practically eliminated the word ‘soul’ from its vocabulary—an elimination not unrelated of course to the chronic sterility or bankruptcy of this thought in the face of what is the first concern of any philosophical speculation worthy of the name: the question of our living identity. The Christian authors, however, on whom I draw for the substance of this chapter were more wholly engaged in the pursuit of our living identity than we tend to be. For them the soul is that highly charged complex of thought, feeling and sensitivity with which God endows us at birth. It is all that in me by virtue of which I am conscious of myself, through which and by means of which I experience myself as a living reality, as an ‘I am’. It is in fact the one reality about which I can have a sure and direct knowledge. About everything else I may have doubts; but I cannot—unless I am a lunatic—question the reality of my own soul, because simply to ask the question implies the existence of the questioner.”

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Book:The Rape of Man & Nature: An Inquiry Into the Origins and Consequences of Modern Science
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“He loved the city most at night. The night hid many of the sorrows. It silenced the city yet brought deep undercurrents to the surface. It was in this dark slip-stream that he believed he moved most freely. Behind the cover of shadows. Like a rider in a limousine, he looked out but no one looked in. There was a random feel to the dark, the quirkiness of chance played out in the blue neon night. So many ways to live. And to die. You could be riding in the back of a studio's black limo, or just as easily the back of the coroner's blue van. The sound of applause was the same as the buzz of a bullet spinning past your ear in the dark. That randomness. That was L.A. There was flash fire and flash flood, earthquake, mudslide. There was the drive-by shooter and the crack-stoked burglar. The drunk driver and the always curving road ahead. There were killer cops and cop killers. There was the husband of the woman you were sleeping with. And there was the woman. At any moment on any night there were people being raped, violated, maimed. Murdered and loved. There was always a baby at his mother's breast. And, sometimes, a baby alone in a Dumpster. Somewhere.”

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Book:The Black Ice
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