Death may whiten in sun or out of it.
There was a beautiful time.
The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of stories, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.
If you love her", I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.
It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset. It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.