Hope. Nothing Is More Intoxicating.

In Love - It Sounded Like A Sickness Without Any Cure, And Wasn't That Just How It Sometimes Felt?

Stories Never Really End...even If The Books Like To Pretend They Do. Stories Always Go On. They Don't End On The Last Page, Any More Than They Begin On The First Page.

When The Heart Craved Something So Forcefully, Then Reason Became Nothing But Helpless Observer.

Blue As The Evening Sky, Blue As Cranesbill Flowers, Blue As The Lips Of Drowned Men And The Heart Of A Blaze Burning With Too Hot A Flame. Yes, Sometimes It Was Hot In This World, Too. Hot And Cold, Light And Dark, Terrible And Beautiful, It Was Everything All At Once. It Wasn't True That You Felt Nothing In The Land Of Death. You Felt And Heard And Smelled And Saw, But Your Heart Remained Strangely Calm, As If It Were Resting Before The Dance Began Again. Peace. Was That The Word?

What Was A Slap For Ten Pages Of Escapism, Ten Pages Far From Everything That Made Him Unhappy, Ten Pages Of Real Life Instead Of The Monotony That Other People Called The Real World?