Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air.

I am infected with life and will die of it in time.

The tune was wailing and mournful, almost flagrantly so, and the total effect was of a heartbroken piccolo being parted forever from its bagpipe lover.

there never is a happy ending because nothing ever ends.

I suppose I could understand it if men had simply forgotten unicorns, but not to see them at all, to look at them and see something else — what do they look to one another, then? What do trees look like to them, or houses, or real horses, or their own children?

Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.

Wisdom is finding joy in bewilderment