I Think People Often Try To Find

Honesty, For Me, Is Usually The Worst Policy Imaginable.

January. It Was All Things. And It Was One Thing, Like A Solid Door. Its Cold Sealed The City In A Gray Capsule. January Was Moments, And January Was A Year. January Rained The Moments Down, And Froze Them In Her Memory: [...]every Human Action Seemed To Yield A Magic. January Was A Two-faced Month, Jangling Like Jester's Bells, Crackling Like Snow Crust, Pure As Any Beginning, Grim As An Old Man, Mysteriously Familiar Yet Unknown, Like A Word One Can Almost But Not Quite Define.

One Situation – Maybe One Alone – Could Drive Me To Murder: Family Life, Togetherness.

Anticipation! It Occurred To Him That His Anticipation Was More Pleasant To Him Than The Experiencing.

It Always Gets Late With You. - Is That A Compliment?