Being human means losing everything we love best in the world," she murmured as she released me. "But would you ask to be anything else?

Others said May was best, that sweet green time when lilacs bloomed and gardens along Main Street were filled with sugary pink peonies and Dutch tulips.

One of my favorites is "Time and Again" by Jack Finney. It takes place in Manhattan and goes back and forth between 1882 and the 1950s. It's really a cult book.

I'm much faster now. When you only have a certain amount of time to write, after a while you learn to use your time well or you stop writing

Everything was red, the air, the sun, whatever I looked at. Except for him. I fell in love with someone who was human. I watched him walk through the hills and come back in the evening when his work was through. I saw things no woman would see: that he knew how to cry, that he was alone. I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was.

Young people believe that regret is something you will never feel if you simply do as you please, but sometimes it is a matter of degree.

That's the way love sounds, my mother told me. You think it should feel like honey, but instead it cuts like a knife.