Death may whiten in sun or out of it.

Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.

How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.

Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.

But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it.

I'm sarcastic, skeptical, and sometimes callous because I'm still afraid, deep down, of letting myself be hurt.

I thought it sounded just like the sort of drug a man would invent. Here was a woman in terrible pain, obviously feeling every bit of it or she wouldn't groan like that, and she would go straight home and start another baby, because the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor or pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again.