My interest is in how meaning is communicated via language, and I believe the shape, positioning, even the color of the language has an effect on meaning.

Losing the possibility of something is the exact same thing as losing hope and without hope nothing can survive.

It is hungry, it it immortal. Worse, it knows nothing of whim.

...and there you have it, another body on the floor surrounded by things that don't mean much to anyone except to the one who can't take any of them along.

I think that's what finally stopped me. I slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. There was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.

Who has never killed an hour?

One forgets that one is one. I must try to remember this.