Better that we leave the paint behind," Hans told her, "than ever forget the music.
The day was gray, the color of Europe.
A small but noteworthy note. I've seen so many young men over the years who think they're running at other young men. They are not. They are running at me.
When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.
Death waits for no man - and if he does, he doesn't usually wait for very long.
It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them