Happy endings are still endings.

Why lock yourself in your own cage when someone is handing you a key?

The body apologizes to the soul for its errors, and the soul asks forgiveness for squatting in the body without invitation.

They'd never been lovers, of course, not in the physical sense. But they'd been lovers as most of us manage, loving through expressions and gestures and the palm set softly upon the bruise at the necessary moment. Lovers by inclination rather than by lust. Lovers, that is, by love.

If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, that might be the best way to die.

Children are wickeder than adults, they have no sense of restraint.

That's the real power of art, I think. Not to chide but to provoke challenge. Otherwise why bother?