Thinking of nothing. Trying to think of nothing. Thinking of everything.
In each man's heart there lies a hole. A dark abyss of need, the filling of which takes precedence over all else.
Better to lose oneself in action than to wither in despair.
Photographs force us to see people before their future weighed them down, before they knew their endings.
Curiosity might have killed the cat, but little girls usually fared much better.
My fingers positively itched to drift at length along their spines, to arrive at one whose lure I could not pass, to pluck it down, to inch it open, then to close my eyes and inhale the soul-sparking scent of old and literate dust.