She wanted nothing that he could offer her, except perhaps his absence.
My imagination is my polestar; I steer by that.
What worth was a man who could not be haunted?
A man kills the thing he loves, and he must die a little himself.
Mischief nodded. 'It's true,' he conceded. 'You're in the company of eight world-class thieves,' he said, not without a little touch of pride. 'Saints we are not.' But then,' said Deaux-Deaux, 'who is?' he thought on this. 'Besides saints.
Nothing ever begins. There is no first moment; no single word or place from which this or any other story springs.