Self-consciousness Is The Destroyer Of Erotic Joy.

No One Knew About The Squirrel’s Skull Beneath Briony Bed, But No One Wanted To Know.

I Don't Really Believe In Evil At All.

A Story Was A Form Of Telepathy. By Means Of Inking Symbols Onto A Page, She Was Able To Send Thoughts And Feelings From Her Mind To Her Reader's. It Was A Magical Process, So Commonplace That No One Stopped To Wonder At It.

A Story Lives Transformed By A Gesture Not Made Or A Word Not Spoken

Oblivion Seemed The Only Reasonable Option.