The More I Suffer, The More I

Desires, Memories, Fears, Passions Form Labyrinths In Which We Lose And Find And Then Lose Ourselves Again.

She Was Struggling, As She Always Had Struggled, Not To Show What She Could Do But To Hide What She Couldn't Do. A Life Made Up Of Advances That Were Actually Frantic Retreats And Victories That Were Concealed Defeats.

It Was More Dangerous Not To Go; I Was Running The Risk Of Becoming Trapped In My Own Fantasies. So I Was Doing The Right Thing By Going. She Would Behave Normally, I Would Behave Normally, And Everything Would Be Normal Again.

People Who Commit Monstrous Crimes Are Not Necessarily Monsters. If They Were, Things Would Be Easy. But They Aren't And It Is One Of The Experiences Of Life.

Why Does What Was Beautiful Shatter In Hindsight Because It Concealed Dark Truths?