When a knot gets to tight, you can always cut the rope

A fine line separates the weary recluse from the fearful hermit. Finer still is the line between hermit and bitter misanthrope.

The heart is an artist that paints over what profoundly disturbs it, leaving on the canvas a less dark, less sharp version of the truth.

...at it's best fiction is medicine.

The rain wasn't the usual glittering silver, but dark and dirty, as if nature were a scrubwoman wringing out a filthy mop.

I don't find slashing and blood flying everywhere to be scary. I just find it repulsive.

Guilt is a tireless horse. Grief ages into sorrow, and sorrow is an enduring rider.