Taking A Thing Apart Is Always Faster

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

I Will Die Like A True-blue Rebel. Don't Waste Any Time In Mourning - Organize.

I Didn't Know The Inner Me Was Hungry," I Said To Art. "that's Because It Already Starved To Death.

The Language Of Sin Was Universal, The Original Esperanto.

She Liked Things That Had Been Written By People Who Had Lived Short, Ugly, And Tragic Lives. Or, Who At Least, Were English.