That's what misbehavior is all about, just a little extra loving being asked for.
We live in our tales of ourselves, she thought, and ignore as best we can the contradictions, and the lapses, and the abrasions of plot against our mortal souls.
He knew about being alone. The weather was always cold there.
I am a forgettable leaf on a tree.
...perhaps charity is the kind of beauty that we comprehend the best because we miss it the most.
...the reasons just reassemble themselves in different patterns every time I think about it.