I believe humans have souls, and I believe in the conservation of souls.
How about I call you when I finish this?” “But you don’t even have my phone number,” he said. “I strongly suspect you wrote it in the book.” He broke out into that goofy smile. “A nd you say we don’t know each other.
Right. I'd forgotten about her.' He shook his head. 'That keeps happening.
Every paper girl needs at least one string.
The thought of you being removed from the rotation is not funny to me.
What do you mean by meant? Given the final futility of our struggle, is the fleeting jolt of meaning that art gives us valuable? Or is it the only value passing time as comfortably as possible?