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.

I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time.

Theory is the practice of the impotent.

God gives us life, but the world's landlord is the devil.

You don't win a game by hitting the ball out of the court.

She was seventeen, her entire life shining on her lips.

Whenever it poured like this, Max felt as if time was pausing. It was like a cease-fire during which you could stop whatever you were doing and just stand by a window for hours, watching the performance, an endless curtain of tears falling from heaven.