Condemned and executioner with aren't coupled in a primitive rite.
He sat by her, watching every gesture she made, as if he would paint her portrait afterward.
When I am fascinated by something, I like to play with it.
I've been criticised for writing in too complex a manner for younger people.
How massively the mountains stand, while low to the ground the sand blows. The sand blows on and on. And then there are no mountains, none at all, the sand has kissed and whispered them away. And still, the sand blows on.
I just love writing. It's magical, it's somewhere else to go, it's somewhere much more dreadful, somewhere much more exciting. Somewhere I feel I belong, possibly more than in the so-called real world.