In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.— Isaac Marion
The most craziest Isaac Marion quotes that are free to learn and impress others
Music? Music is life! It’s physical emotion - you can touch it! It’s neon ecto-energy sucked out of spirits and switched into sound waves for your ears to swallow. Are you telling me, what, that it’s boring? You don’t have time for it?
I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.
I want a new past,new memories, a new first handshake with love.
I want to start over in every possible way.
My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.
You should always be taking pictures, if not with a camera then with your mind.
Memories you capture on purpose are always more vivid than the ones you pick up by accident.
I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.
We smile, because this is how we save the world.
My favorite songs change every year.
I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.
We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.
I'm watching her talk. Watching her jaw move and collecting her words one by one as they spill from her lips. I don't deserve them. Her warm memories. I'd like to paint them over the bare plaster walls of my soul, but everything I paint seems to peel.
Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.
...and we'll see what happens when we say Yes while this rigor mortis world screams No.
I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys
I used to split my time between writing, music and painting.
I would work on a book and then abandon it, start a band, do an album, quit music, then do a gallery show. Eventually I decided to give writing a serious shot.
I hate that she's hurt. I hate that she's been hurt, by me and by others, throughout the entire arc of her life. I barely remember pain, but when I see it in her I feel it in myself, in disproportionate measure. it creeps into my eyes, stinging, burning.
There is no ideal world for you to wait around for.
The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.
Every experience, good or bad, is a priceless collector's item.
Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.
I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes. My friends have to keep reminding me how crazy my life has become, and then it hits me fresh and I just slap my forehead and think, "Wait, what... ?"
I know I'm not going to say good-bye.
And if these staggering refugees want to help, if they think they see something bigger here than a boy chasing a girl, then they can help, and we'll see what happens when we say yes while the rigor mortis world screams no.
Peel off these dusty wool blankets of apathy and antipathy and cynical desiccation. I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness.
I don't know... there's something kind of beautiful about it, don't you think? That we keep living and growing even though our world is a corpse? That we keep coming back no matter how many of us die?
It's a strange feeling, being so utterly surrounded by her.
Her life scent is on everything. She's on me and under me and next to me. It's as if the entire room is made out of her.
She hugs me. It's tentative at first, a little scared, and yes, a little repulsed, but then she melts into it. She rests her head against my cold neck and embraces me. Unable to believer what's happening, I put my arm around her and just hold her. I almost swear I can feel my heart thumping. But it must just be hers, pressed tightly against my chest.
I would like my life to be a movie so I could cut to a montage.
We're fumbling in the dark, but at least we're in motion.
Sometimes it's a struggle to live in the moment.
It's hard to take your life so seriously when you can see it all at once.
I don't want to hear music, I don't want the sunrise to be pink.
The world is a liar. Its ugliness is overwhelming; the scraps of beauty make it worse.
Stop. Breathe those useless breaths. Drop this piece of life you’re holding to your lips. Where are you? How long have you been here? Stop now. You have to stop. Squeeze shut your stinging eyes, and take another bite.
I can no longer believe in any voodoo spell or laboratory virus.
This is something deeper, darker. This comes from the cosmos, from the stars, or the unknown blackness behind them. The shadows in God's boarded-up basement.
If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.
You know things are moving. You're changing, you fellow Dead are changing, the world is ready for something miraculous. What are we waiting for?
What happened to the world was gradual.
I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.
I wish people were willing to dig a little deeper than the surface elements of a premise before tossing one story in with another.
...thinking all this maximalism would somehow generate happiness?
It’s sad to see them staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked.
... we shoved out many hopes and fears into their hands, believing those hands were strong because they had firm handshakes. They failed us, always. There was no way they could not fail us - they were human, and so were we.
But I'm not afraid of the skeletons in Julie's closet.
I look forward to meeting the rest of them, looking them hard in the eye, giving them firm, bone-crunching handshakes.
God has made us study partner. We need to talk about our project.
Even in my bravest moment, I am a coward.
I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.
Breathing is optional, but I need some air.
There’s not really such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people, there’s just like…humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.
It frustrates and fascinates me that we'll never know for sure, that despite the best efforts of historians and scientists and poets, there are some things we'll just never know. What the first song sounded like. How it felt to see the first photograph. Who kissed the first kiss, and if it was any good.
What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?
I'm not a general or a colonel or a builder of cities. I'm just a corpse who wants not to be.