Jealousy Knows More Than Truth Does.

I Always Had Understood That Dying Of Love Was Mere Poetic License.

He Thought About His People Without Sentimentality, With A Strict Closing Of His Accounts With Life, Beginning To Understand How Much He Really Loved The People He Hated Most.

Everyone Has Three Lives: A Public Life, A Private Life, And A Secret Life.

Then He Made One Last Effort To Search In His Heart For The Place Where His Affection Had Rotted Away, And He Could Not Find It.

Her Laugh Was Sad And Taciturn, Seemingly Detached From Any Feeling Of The Moment, Like Something She Kept In The Cupboard And Took Out Only When She Had To, Using It With No Feeling Of Ownership, As If The Infrequency Of Her Smiles Had Made Her Forget The Normal Way To Use Them.