When the storms do come; you can only allow them to slow you down, but don’t let them stop you, there will be delays, detours, and disappointments but you have to keep pushing through it.

Keep your head up and keep going. Take it day by day. And if you need to, hour by hour.

Even a doctor would be baffled at how my heart conveniently decides to beat faster or slower – depending on whether I’m thinking about you or not.

The fitful sleeping makes the hours pass slowly; it seems to me the night has many nights in it―has years of nights!―through which, as if through drifts of smoke, I am compelled to stumble.

Kevin Copeland: [as Brittany Wilson] Sweetie! You’ve got to slow up with those cosmos!
Marcus Copeland: [as Tiffany Wilson] Tee-hee! Oh, fine.
Kevin Copeland: [as Brittany Wilson] Brittany and Tiffany Wilson, checking in!

“We have to slow down or I’ll puke,” I remarked after we finished the first bottle.

“I’m sorry, Pudge. I wasn’t aware that someone was holding open your throat and pouring wine down it,” the Colonel responded.

I’ve always been a slow starter.

When I’m with you, hours feel like seconds. But when we’re apart, days feel like years.

“No,” I said. And maybe it was only because Alaska couldn’t hit the brakes and I couldn’t hit the accelerator.

I ran like a cheetah – well, like a cheetah that smoked too much.

The best things are never arrived at in haste. God is in no hurry; His plans are never rushed.

God’s plan isn’t a map for your life that you see all at once, but a scroll unrolled a little at a time.

When you’re driving in the fast lane, but it feels like the slow lane.

And now she was colder by the hour, more dead with every breath I took. I thought: That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him the world run out of glasses and he would just have to do without.

INSOMNIA… Lie perfectly still and count 287,643 in a slow, methodical manner. By the time you have finished counting it will be daylight, and you will be surprised to notice how quickly the night has passed.

The hardest part about pranking, Alaska told me once, is not being able to confess. But I could confess on her behalf now. And as I slowly made my way out of the gym, I told anyone who would listen, “No. It wasn’t us. It was Alaska.”

The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

Sleep finally comes like a summer dry river, a trickle that’s shallow and splits around rocks and downed branches and tree roots, dividing and dividing, till by morning it’s the thin bead of gathered morning dew, dripping lazy off the army tent overhead.

Whenever I feel myself sinking into a deep sleep, something always recalls me: “Not so fast now. Suppose you should go to sleep and it should happen. What then?” Clearly nothing. Yet there I lie, wakeful and watchful as a sentry, ears tuned to the slightest noise.

I find the nights long, for I sleep but little, and think much.

Don’t rush and never settle. If it’s meant to be, it will be.

She stood for a moment looking out at a slowly moving view of the hills, watching heather slide past underneath the door, feeling the wind blow her wispy hair, and listening to the rumble and grind of the big black stones as the castle moved.