Why did I laugh at his sorry, bedraggled appearance? Because ridiculousness made a repellant situation more bearable.

Why is it the songs all end with the good people winning, but in life they don't?" They don't make songs when the good lose," I muttered. "They make war chants against the bad. So there won't be any songs for us.

One doesn't lose a self, like a pair of gloves or a pine. We learn and change, or we harden into stone.

Everyone is an idiot," I stated. "Except me.

The only noise now was the rain, pattering softly with the magnificent indifference of nature for the tangled passions of humans.

Memory warps time, as it does the sights and sounds and smells of reality; for what shapes it is emotion, which can twist what seems clear, just as the surface of a pond seems to bend the stick thrust into the water.

No, I don't think I could fall in love with him, handsome though he is, because I don't accept any of that huff he gives me about my great beauty and all that. I'd have to trust a man's words before I could love him. I think.