Everyone has to scratch on walls somewhere or they go crazy

But we were interested in how our lives could mean something to the past. We sailed into the past.

This was the time in her life that she fell upon books as the only door out of her cell. They became half her world.

You want to suggest something new, but at the same time, resolve the drama of the action in the novel.

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.

Between the kitchen and the destroyed chapel a door led into an oval-shaped library. The space inside seemed safe except for a large hole at portrait level in the far wall, caused by mortar-shell attack on the villa two months earlier. The rest of the room had adapted itself to this wound, accepting the habits of weather, evening stars, the sound of birds.

Kirpal's left hand swoops down and catches the dropped fork an inch from the floor and gently passes it into the fingers of his daughter, a wrinkle at the edge of his eyes behind his spectacles.