There's never been anything funny about a woman dying for love.
Dying for love might be pitiable, but it wasn't much different, finally, from any other kind of dying.
I'm only interested in stories that are about the crushing of the human heart.
You're painfully alive in a drugged and dying culture.
Can you really think artists and writers are the only people entitled to lives of their own?
Anybody's marriage might benefit from an occasional embargo on talk.