Happy people are rarely interesting.
Fairy's side note: Even people who don't believe in magic really do.
I will not go on, I thought. I won't. I will throw my soul to the wind and blow into a thousand pieces. I will wash up on a shore somewhere like bleached and broken driftwood. I will dry out in the sun until I-and any gift I ever had-shrivel into the sand.
"Women," he said in disgust. I wasn't sure whether we was referring to me or nuns.
Perhaps I wasn't going crazy after all. Perhaps I was just becoming a writer.
Peacocks have the bright feathers. Fish have the long tails. Women have the mall.