Liesel's blood had dried inside of her. It crumbled. She almost broke into pieces on the steps.
Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.
I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race - that rarely do I ever simply estimate it.
When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)
It's about glowing lights and small things that are big.
Can a wolfe be beautiful?