She'd slept terribly the night before. The room, the bed, were both comfortable enough, but she'd been plagued with strange dreams, the sort that lingered upon waking but slithered away from memory as she tried to grasp them. Only the tendrils of discomfort remained.

I want to be independent. To meet interesting people. ... I just mean new people with clever things to say. Things I've never heard before. I want to be free. Open to whatever adventure comes along and sweeps me off my feet.

when you love someone you’ll do just about anything to keep them.

Had any poet adequately described the wretched ugliness of a loved one turned inside out with grief?

Oh, there was harm indeed for a young lady flattered by the brief attentions of a handsome man.

She doesn't know I cry for the changing times. That just as I reread favourite books, some small part of me hoping for a different ending, I find myself hoping against hope that the war will never come. That this time, somehow, it will leave us be.

She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.