Long, dark, and lovely she had been, in those days before her mind broke and the parts scattered and she let them go.
Pine trees with low limbs spread over fresh snow made a stronger vault for the spirit than pews and pulpits ever could.
I felt like a number of things in me as a writer just clicked.
The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.
Never. Never ask for what ought to be offered.
It's not always to the benefit of the story to have it so preordained.