I had been born shoved to the margins of the world, sure, but I had volunteered for the pits.
The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.
When I started to be a writer, I was not going to run the risk of boring you.
This is how sudden things happened that haunted forever.
The heart's in it then, spinning dreams, and torment is on the way. The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.
Never. Never ask for what ought to be offered.