The Road To Hell Is Paved With

A Girl Came In The Cafe And Sat By Herself At A Table Near The Window. She Was Very Pretty With A Face Fresh As A Newly Minted Coin If They Minted Coins In Smooth Flesh With Rain-freshened Skin, And Her Hair Black As A Crow's Wing And Cut Sharply And Diagonally Across Her Cheek.

Love Is Infinitely More Endurable Than Hate.

Madame, All Stories, If Continued Far Enough, End In Death, And He Is No True-story Teller Who Would Keep That From You.

When You Stop Doing Things For Fun You Might As Well Be Dead.

The Only Decent Bone In Her Body Was Mine.