Fictional characters are made of words, not flesh; they do not have free will, they do not exercise volition. They are easily born, and as easily killed off.
The novel is resilient, and so are novelists.
The white May blossom swooned slowly into the open mouth of the grave.
No two things the same, the equals sign a scandal.
We think we're living in the present, but we're really living in the past.
I like ideas. I find them more exciting than human behavior for the most part.