Everything Gets To Me. I'm Very Sentimental.

Please," She Whispered As She Opened The Book, "please Get Me Out Of Here Just For An Hour Or So, Please Take Me Far, Far Away

Let's Run Away To Venice, And Hide Out In An Old Movie Theater. We Can Dye Our Hair Blonde, So No One Will Ever Find Us!

Desperate? So What? I'm Desperate, Too!" Fenoglio Snapped At Her. "my Story Is Foundering In Misfortune, And These Hands Here," He Said Holding Them Out To Her, "don't Want To Write Anymore! I'm Afraid Of Words Meggie! 'once They Were Like Honey, Now They're Poison, Pure Poison! But What Is A Writer Who Doesn't Love Words Anymore? What Have I Come To? This Story Is Devouring Me, Crushing Me, And I'm It's Creator!

Books Have To Be Heavy Because The Whole World's Inside Them.

So What? All Writers Are Lunatics!