Dean Ray Koontz (born July 9, 1945) is an American author. His novels are broadly described as suspense thrillers, but also frequently incorporate elements of horror, science fiction, mystery, and satire. Several of his books have appeared on the New York Times Bestseller List, with 14 hardcovers and 14 paperbacks reaching the number one position. Koontz wrote under a number of pen names earlier in his career, including "David Axton", "Leigh Nichols" and "Brian Coffey". He has sold over 450 million copies as reported on his official site. (Click here for full Wikipedia article)
One of the greatest gifts we receive from dogs is the tenderness they evoke in us. The disappointments of life, the injustices, the battering events that are beyond our control, and the betrayals we endure, from those we befriended and loved, can make us cynical and turn our hearts into flint– on which only the matches of anger and bitterness can be struck into flame. By their delight in being with us, the reliable sunniness of their disposition, the joy they bring to playtime, the curiosity with which they embrace each new experience, dogs can melt cynicism, and sweeten the bitter heart.
No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish- consciously or unconsciously- that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.
Dogs' lives are short, too short, but you know that going in. You know the pain is coming, you're going to lose a dog, and there's going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can't support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion. There's such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware that it comes with an unbearable price. Maybe loving dogs is a way we do penance for all the other illusions we allow ourselves and the mistakes we make because of those illusions.
When you have dogs, you witness their uncomplaining acceptance of
suffering, their bright desire to make the most of life in spite of the
limitations of age and disease, their calm awareness of the approaching
end when their final hours come. They accept death with a grace that I
hope I will one day be brave enough to muster.
-from "A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog"
A fanatic is a nut who has something to believe in.
Blizzards, floods, volcanos, hurricanes, earthquakes: They fascinate because they nakedly reveal that Mother Nature, afflicted with bipolar disorder, is as likely to snuff us as she is to succor us.
Fate cannot be sidestepped or outrun.
Hatred and anger are only scars upon a beach, while love is the rolling surf that ceaselessly smooths the sand.
Human beings can always be relied upon to assert, with vigor, their God-given right to be stupid.
If dogs talked, one of them would be president by now. Everybody likes dogs.
Ignorance isn't bliss, but sometimes ignorance makes it possible for us to sleep at night.
In a crunch a man's reputation never counts for as much as it ought to.
In a world that daily disconnects further from truth, more and more people accept the virtual in place of the real, and all things virtual are also malleable.
Loneliness comes in two basic varieties. When it results from a desire for solitude, loneliness is a door we close against the world. When the world instead rejects us, loneliness is an open door, unused.
Love isn't enough. Your parents have to know how to relate to you, and to each other. They have to want to be with you more than with anyone else.
One of the greatest sorrows of human existence is that some people aren't happy merely to be alive but find their happiness only in the misery of others.
Pain is a gift. Humanity, without pain, would know neither fear nor pity. Without fear, there could be no humility, and every man would be a monster. The recognition of pain and fear in others give rise in us to pity, and in our pity is our humanity, our redemption
Recognizing the structure of your psychology doesn't mean that you can easily rebuild it.
The sane understand that human beings are incapable of sustaining conspiracies on a grand scale, because some of our most defining qualities as a species are inattention to detail, a tendency to panic, and an inability to keep our mouths shut.
There's lots of law these days, but not much justice.
When we don't allow ourselves to hope, we don't allow ourselves to have purpose. Without purpose, without meaning, life is dark. We've no light within, and we're just living to die.
Where there's cake, there's hope. And there's always cake.
Your sense of responsibility to others can never be excessive.