A Story ... Has A Sturdy Sense

It Was At This Time That She Entirely Gave Up On Reading. The Covers Of Books Looked Like Coffins To Her, Either Shabby Or Ornate, And What Was Inside Them Might As Well Have Been Dust.

He Was Evidently The Sort Of Person Who Posed Questions That Were Traps For You To Fall Into.

Sometimes I Get The Start Of A Story From A Memory, An Anecdote, But That Gets Lost And Is Usually Unrecognizable In The Final Story.

One Drop Of Hatred In Your Soul Will Spread And Discolor Everything Like A Drop Of Black Ink In White Milk.

That's Something I Think Is Growing On Me As I Get Older: Happy Endings.