Interesting Verbs Are Seldom Very Interesting.

Walter Had Never Liked Cats. They'd Seemed To Him The Sociopaths Of The Pet World, A Species Domesticated As An Evil Necessary For The Control Of Rodents And Subsequently Fetishized The Way Unhappy Countries Fetishize Their Militaries, Saluting The Uniforms Of Killers As Cat Owners Stroke Their Animals' Lovely Fur And Forgive Their Claws And Fangs. He'd Never Seen Anything In A Cat's Face But Simpering Incuriosity And Self-interest; You Only Had To Tease One With A Mouse-toy To See Where It's True Heart Lay...cats Were All About Using People

...she Felt That Nothing Could Kill Her Hope Now, Nothing. She Was Seventy-five And She Was Going To Make Some Changes In Her Life.

Fiction That Isn't An Author's Personal Adventure Into The Frightening Or The Unknown Isn't Worth Writing For Anything But Money.

But She Was Seventeen Now And Not Actually Dumb. She Knew That You Could Love Somebody More Than Anything And Still Not Love The Person All That Much, If You Were Busy With Other Things.

He And His Wife Loved Each Other And Brought Each Other Daily Pain. Everything Else He Was Doing In His Life, Even His Longing For Lalitha, Amounted To Little More Than Flight From Circumstance. He And Patty Couldn't Live Together And Couldn't Imagine Living Apart. Each Time He Thought They'd Reached The Unbearable Breaking Point, It Turned Out That There Was Still Further They Could Go Without Breaking.