From this point on, she whispered, we will either find or lose our souls.
Right now, I have no idea what I will write or if I will write again.
How does this happen? To fall in love and be disassembled.
She had grown older. And he loved her more now than he had loved her when he understood her better, when she was the product of her parents. What she was now was what she herself had decided to become.
As a writer, one is busy with archaeology.
...the heart is an organ of fire.