We turned on one another deep, drowned gazes, and exchanged a kiss that reduced my bones to rubber and my brain to gruel.
When I can no longer bear to think of the victims of broken homes, I begin to think of the victims of intact ones.
I love being a writer. What I can't stand is the paperwork.
How do you expect mankind to be happy in pairs when it is miserable separately?
Pain is the question mark turned like a fishhook in the human heart.
I wondered whether any woman could be happy with a man who says 'folderol'.