Every labyrinth has its minotaur

Man...heats up like a lightbulb: red hot in the twinkling of an eye and cold again in a flash. The female, on the other hand...heats up like an iron. Slowly, over a low heat, like tasty stew. But then, once she has heated up, there's no stopping her.

There was no more good or evil in this world than we imagine there to be, either out of greed or out of innocence. Or sometimes madness.

The rain was still crashing down, angrily machine-gunning the large windows; it poured through the gutters up in the tower and funneled along the flat roof, sounding like footsteps on the ceiling.

Poetry is written with tears, fiction with blood, and history with invisible ink.

You young people never say anything. And us old folks don't know how to stop talking.

I think today will be the day. Today our luck will change,' I proclaimed on the wings of the first coffee of the day, pure optimism in a liquid state.