For me, novels coalesce into being, rather than arrive fully formed.
We looked at each other for the last time; nothing is as eloquent as nothing.
What is any ocean but a multitude of drops?
If your words're true, they're armed.
But no, we cross, crisscross, and recross our old tracks like figure skaters.
Love's pure free joy when it works, but when it goes bad you pay for the good hours at loan-shark prices.