A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

I wanted to tell her not to entertain despair like this. Despaire wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favorite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy." -white oleander

I wandered through the stacks, running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves, they reminded me of cultured or opinionated guests at a wonderful party, whispering to each other.

Oleander time, she said. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind.

You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.

The cake had a trick candle that wouldn't go out, so I didn't get my wish. Which was just that it would always be like this, that my life could be a party just for me.

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.