I felt him there with me. The real David. My David. David, you are still here. Alive. Alive in me. Alive in the galaxy. Alive in the stars. Alive in the sky. Alive in the sea. Alive in the palm trees. Alive in feathers. Alive in birds. Alive in the mountains. Alive in the coyotes. Alive in books. Alive in sound. Alive in mom. Alive in dad. Alive in Bobby. Alive in me. Alive in soil. Alive in branches. Alive in fossils. Alive in tongues. Alive in eyes. Alive in cries. Alive in bodies. Alive in past, present and future. Alive forever.
He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, and the whole world powers off, the moon and the rain and the sky and the streets, and it's just the two of us in the dark, alive, alive, alive.
Out of trillions of organisms that were alive at the beginning of time, are alive now and will be alive at the end of time, only one tampers with its food. You do not want to bet against those kinds of odds.
As I squeeze, he turns his head, and there is the tiniest, slimmest of moments when he sees me. I look into those wolf eyes, and even though they are empty, they're still alive. In that split second he is alive and looking at me. I am alive and looking at him. Then the moment is over, the trigger is pulled back, and the gun is empty.
Yes, alive, ' said Fudge. 'That is - I don't know - is a man alive if he can't be killed? I don't really understand it, and Dumbledore won't explain properly - but anyway, he's certainly got a body and is walking and talking and killing, so I suppose, for the purposes of our discussion, yes, he's alive.
To die is more important than trying to be alive. When we try to be alive, we have trouble. Rather than trying to be alive or active, if we can be calm and die or fade away into emptiness, then naturally we will be all right.
To be alive is a fine thing. It is the finest thing in the world, though hazardous. It is a unique thing. It happens only once in a lifetime. To be alive, to know consciously that you are alive, and to relish that knowledge - this is a kind of magic. Or it may be a kind of madness, exhilarating but harmless.
I've never been with a boy who hasn't seen me naked. It's always the squeaky futon, bear-it-all, turn-off-the-lights quickstep. Don't chalk it up to 'daddy issues.' Maybe I'm sick of keeping private parts private. I don't want rainwater secrets on my lips, tasting of 'don't make too much noise'. October's dust in my lungs, maybe I don't want bits of four AM lingering in my subconscious. Smokers breathe in fire, coat their insides in ash. Is that suicide or arson? Listen to me, listen to me. I'm alive. I'M ALIVE. I'm naked and bruised, but I'm alive. I'm not a piece of fruit. Don't press into my flesh, looking for soft spots. My whole body is tender and rotten, but I'm alive. I'm alive and just because you can see it all, doesn't mean you know it all
Now look at me! Take a good look! I was born and I knew I was alive and I knew what I wanted. What do you think is alive in me? Why do you think I'm alive? Because I have a stomach and eat and digest the food? Because I breathe and work and produce more food to digest? Or because I know what I want, and that something which knows how to want-isn't that life itself? And who-in this damned universe-who can tell me why I should live for anything but for that which I want?