How right that the body changed over time, becoming a gallery of scars, a canvas of experience, a testament to life and one's capacity to endure it.

A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.

My hatred gives me strength.

I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean't.

Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.

She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.

His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were like cobras following a reed flute.