It is hungry, it it immortal. Worse, it knows nothing of whim.
Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground.
No one ever really gets used to nightmares.
I could see her get all nervous but she was also excited. Nightmares have that quality, don't they?
The finest act of seeing is necessarily always the act of not seeing something else.
Love of love written by the broken hearted, love of life written by the dead.