You make your own luck, Gig. You know what makes a good loser? Practice.

Each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all.

I love you for all that you are, all that you have been, all that you're yet to be.

This was the price you paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other.

I love thee and thou art so lovely and so wonderful and so beautiful and it does such things to me to be with thee that I feel as though I wanted to die when I am loving thee.

There isn't any me. I'm you. Don't make up a separate me.

Never mistake motion for action.