We choose those we like; with those we love, we have no say in the matter.
A new wound makes all the old ones ache again.
We are like people with short-term leases on summer cottages; we can never seem to make our provisions come out even with our stay.
Anywhere you go liking everyone, everyone will be likeable.
The neurotic circles ceaselessly above a fogged-in airport.
The fear of being laughed at makes cowards of us all.