They're Just Memories Now. Time To Write

Every Novelist Should Possess A Hermaphroditic Imagination.

Paris Was A Museum Displaying Exactly Itself.

He Remained Heartbroken, Which Meant One Of Two Things: Either His Love Was Pure And True And Earthshakingly Significant; Or He Was Addicted To Feeling Forlorn, He Liked Being Heartbroken.

It Was Amazing How It Worked: The Tiniest Bit Of Truth Made Credible The Greatest Lies.

Winter Is The Season Of Alcoholism And Despair.