It was something... the way a person's life picked up speed, the way a life was like a bullet aimed at one final target, impossible to slow or turn aside, and like the bullet, you were ignorant of what you were going to hit, would never know anything except the rush and the impact.
Interpretation
Life moves forward uncontrollably towards a final moment, with uncertainty about the outcome.
In this quote, Joe Hill reflects on the nature of life as an unstoppable force, much like a bullet being fired. He emphasizes the inevitability of lifeβs trajectory towards a final destination, where we remain largely unaware of what lies ahead, experiencing only the exhilarating rush of living and the eventual impact of our journey.
In practice
This quote can inspire a graduation speech about the unpredictability of life's path.
She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.
The mad sometimes drilled holes in their own heads to let the demons out. To relieve the pressure of thoughts they could no longer bear. Jude understood the impulse. Each beat of his heart was a fresh and staggering blow felt in the nerves behind his eyes and in his temples. Punishing evidence of life.
I see God now as an unimaginative writer of popular fictions, someone who builds stories around sadistic and graceless plots, narratives that exist only to express His terror of a woman's power to choose who and how to love, to redefine love as she sees fit, not as God thinks it ought to be. The author is unworthy of His own characters.
There is a point at which even justice does injury.
I felt like a Tinker toy kid building my own self out of one of those toy building sets; for as she laid her life before me, I reassembled the tableau of her words like a picture puzzle, and as I did, so my own life was rebuilt.
Today the insatiable quest for profit promotes the new slavery. In bewildering ways, the new is more pernicious than the old, for the New American Slave is told he is free, and he clings to that myth as if his life depended upon it, a suspicion that cannot be totally ignored.
Perfume is that last and best reserve of the past, the one which when all out tears have run dry, can make us cry again!
Appealing workplaces are to be avoided. One wants a room with no view, so imagination can meet memory in the dark.
The most persistent sound which reverberates through man's history is the beating of war drums.
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