And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.

The bad blood rose in me, just like wine.

I do love the past but wouldnt want to live in it.

I barely knew I had skin before I met you.

What does it say?" I said, when I had. She said, "It is filled with all the words for how I want you...Look.

Respect your characters, even the ­minor ones. In art, as in life, everyone is the hero of their own particular story; it is worth thinking about what your minor characters' stories are, even though they may intersect only slightly with your protagonist's.

And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.