Doesn't it make you wonder about your own sexual identity, not to mention your sanity, that the two women you love are, respectively, a virtual woman existing only in the transient ansible connections between computers and a woman whose soul is in fact that of a man who is the husband of your mother?

Nobody ever completely means what they say. Even when they think they're telling the truth, there's always something hidden behind their words.

Today, Mr. Darcy is a vampire.

Maybe she couldn't know who she was today. Maybe it was enough to know that she was no longer who she was before.

If only we were wiser or better people, perhaps the gods would explain to us the mad, unbearable things they do.

But in the meantime I became accustomed to the writing life and it would be hard to change now - partly because of the salary cut if I went to my other love, teaching; and partly because I still have stories to tell, even though it isn't all that fun doing the work anymore.

I also remembered that you were beautiful." "Memory does play tricks on us." "No. Your face is the same, but I don't remember what beautiful means anymore.