..this feeling haunts and inhabits me, like a sickness. it covers me, like skin.
I never expected my books to do even as well as they have. I still feel grateful for it, every single day.
The bad blood rose in me, just like wine.
Why do gentlemen's voices carry so clearly, when women's are so easily stifled?
Your heart-as you call it-and hers are alike, after all: they are like mine, like everyone's. They resemble nothing so much as those meters you will find on gas-pipes: they only perk up and start pumping when you drop coins in.
What does it say?" I said, when I had. She said, "It is filled with all the words for how I want you...Look.