I don't know what it is, but I ache for it each day. It's as though I have eyes, but there are colors I cannot see. As though I have ears, but there's a range of notes I cannot hear.

That’s where proper stories begin, don’t they, when the handsome stranger arrives and everything goes wrong?

It's one thing to keep secrets. It's quite another to lie.

Death had no lips, but it was smiling

Imagine a world without shadows. You cannot touch a shadow, but a world without them is a hard world, and flat.

Father sighed. “Please spare me these arguments of yours.” “Whose arguments should I use?

How can something as fragile as a word build the whole world?