Clergyman's

Over 70k "Quotes"

“The landscape started hard, sharp black mountains over my shoulder and thirsty young saguaros hugging patchy dirt. Gradually it let go, began to green on me a little. I crossed a river, watched succulents get fatter and farmland start to wave, hoarding the blue above and the few clouds it had to spare.I knew the route somehow, knew the curves, the directions, the exact way to go. I knew it the way you know the stars are still up in the sky even though white sun obscures them. Everything that had happened before Lukeville and Sonoita began to liquify in memory, feeling more like fiction than personal history. Funerals and pain, girlfriends and mothers, roommates and priests all tumble away with the desert behind me. The only thing that’s real is the road I see ahead. The only person in my life is the man sitting silently beside me. The place I’m going is the only place I’ve ever wanted to go.”
— Laurie Perez

“A common mistake people make is assuming compassion requires some kind of action they’re not ready to take. In other words, if I feel compassion for this dangerous, havoc-wreaking person (or for my tedious co-workers, the guy who cut me off in traffic, my abusive parents, that politician, etc.) then I’ll have to drop everything I’m into and go hug and try to heal or help…or…do something I don’t know how to do. Not so. Compassion begins within; the compassion you have for yourself will guide you to act or detach with regard for your own well-being.”
— Laurie Perez

“We pick up our shots and for the first time there’s a total absence of sound in the room. From the ceiling, shy silver things blink and wait. Dennis doesn’t sit, but hovers at the edge of the table, leaning in with a darkroom perfected slump. His hair hangs like its edges were dipped in lead. Thin spears pointing to the table. I’m looking at his face; we’re both serious in a self-aware way, pretending not to notice.”It doesn’t even feel like I left. God, you look fucking terrible. But it’s a terrible face that drinks tequila well. Down. And cheers.”We force a dull clash of cups and pour everything down at once. The hard tequila shudders that never happen in the movies. First your head feels light, then it starts receiving the distress signals from throat, lungs, belly. Your shoulders jerk to shake off the snake that wrapped around you and squeezed. It burns. The good burn.”
— Laurie Perez

“Bringing a novel to light – revealing the form and cadence, shadows and demeanor of a protagonist constructed from thin air – linking scenes and synchronicity across translucent time – holding up a glass brimming with chilled, never-tasted liquid, then sipping from it with intoxicated focus – allowing lovers to make a perilous mess of things, fall apart and nakedly come back together again – looking through conjured windows deep into someone else’s snow-bound solitude, feeling utterly alone yet being all-connected: this is not writing. It’s world-creating.It’s raw, exposed dreaming. It’s humbling. At first too personal and intimate to share, it evolves like a child into a life of its own until I have no say in what comes next. It’s what I wake at 4am to say Yes to, the spinning possibility of a new story relentlessly commanding me to write it down so it can whirl in your experience.”
— Laurie Perez

“She opens the book. Each sheet has one or two antique photographs stuck with corner tabs. The images are neither black and white nor gray, but hold that brownish gold of time and exposure to air.”This man is your great grandfather. Look at that face, Pedro. It is a mean mean face.” He’s standing in front of a wood pile, holding an axe. “I think he was only a teenager there, a long time before he met my mother. But look how handsome he was. And how mean.”It’s funny the way she smiles when she talks about him. Saying he’s mean has a perverse joy for her, as if she can stick her tongue out at him and his hands are tied so he can’t slap her for doing it. She’s right, though. There’s no lingering smile, no potential for mirth in the burlap of his skin. I notice snow on the ground at his feet, but he’s wearing a thin, unbuttoned shirt, showing no sign of cold.”
— Laurie Perez