Can a person steal happiness? Or is just another internal, infernal human trick?
The silence was always the greates temptation.
As always, one of her books was next to her.
The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .
Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.
I'm not the messenger at all. I'm the message.