Most of the time in our world, truth is just opinion.

all this Beethoven and rain

There is the hidden presence of others in us, even those we have known briefly. We contain them for the rest of our lives, at every border that we cross.

she had a laugh that hinted it had rolled around once or twice in the mud.

He was a man who wrote, who interpreted the world. Wisdom grew out of being handed just the smallest sliver of emotion. A glance could lead to paragraphs of theory.

You don't want to write your own opinion, you don't want to just represent yourself, but represent yourself through someone else.

There always should be something hanging unfinished before a scene ends so that there's a reason for going to the next scene.