I Can't Really Work On More Than

The Nature Of Love Had Totally Escaped Her Until Now. She Had Thought That If You Lost It, You Could Never Get It Back, Like A Stone Thrown Down A Well. But It Was Like The Water At The Bottom Of The Well, There When You Can't Even See It, Shifting In The Dark.

Love Is Worth The Sum Of Itself, And Nothing More.

Our Rest Is Formed By Our Waking Life And Our Waking Life Is Formed By Our Sorrows.

Sometimes The Right Thing Feels All Wrong Until It Is Over And Done With.

She Was Disappearing A Little More Each Day, So Thin, So Frail, A Wisp Of Smoke. One Day She Would Surely Vanish Altogether, And There Was No Way To Stop Her.