Why do we have such a finite capacity for pleasure but an infinite one for pain?

They say the path of true love never runs smooth. Well, Luke and my true love's path didn't run at all, it limped along in new boots that were chafing its heels. Blistered and cut, red and raw, every hopping, lopsided step, a little slice of agony.

For feel-good fiction to work, there has to be an element of darkness.

You will go on and meet someone else and I'll just be a chapter in your tale, but for me, you were, you are and you always will be, the whole story.

I sighed. "What is life but fleeting moments of happiness strung together on necklace of despair?

I went grey at 12, my eyesight went at 17. I've been a crock from very early on.

The feel of them (books) and the smell of them. A bookshop was like an Aladdin's cave for me. Entire worlds and lives can be found just behind that glossy cover. All you had to do was look." Claire (Watermelon)