You know, as fiction writers, if our instincts are off, we can't pay our bills.
Once love had seemed like magic. Now it seemed like tricks.
I want to pretend there's such a thing as requited love. As the endurance of love.
There seemed nothing so true as a yellow tree.
One had to build shelters. One had to make pockets and live inside them.
I don't think of any sentence as a "one-liner", but I do pay attention to how people actually speak when they are being funny. Rhythm is key.