Love sometimes makes people ruthless in a way that not even hatred can.

Why is it you can never hope to describe the emotion Africa creates? You are lifted. Out of whatever pit, unbound from whatever tie, released from whatever fear. You are lifted and you see it all from above.

A first kiss is the demarcation line: the same information that a moment ago felt private, all of a suddens seems unfair to withhold. And with that exchange came more.

Love sometimes makes people ruthless in a way that not even hatred can.

No use crying over spilled milk.

When people die and especially when they die tragically, others can't help but get carried away. They come up with their implausible interpretation and usually resort to cheap psychology. A sense of fatalism is the only form of relief left.

I'd rather stay asleep than have to learn all those frightening secrets.