The lawn was white with doctors
Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
No day is safe from news of you.
You know what lies are for.
The future is what matters — because one never reaches it, but always stays in the present — like the White Queen who had to run like the wind to remain in the same spot.
I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover.