What A Blessed If Painful Thing, This

Were Talking About An Attitude. Delayed Gratification Is There, Planning, Be Able To Give Up Something Now To Get Something Later.

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

You Loved Me As Hard As You Knew How. I'd Give Anything To Go Back And Love You Better.

I Have Nothing To Say For Myself, Only That I Have Always Tried To Make This Earth A Little Bit Better

I See God Now As An Unimaginative Writer Of Popular Fictions, Someone Who Builds Stories Around Sadistic And Graceless Plots, Narratives That Exist Only To Express His Terror Of A Woman's Power To Choose Who And How To Love, To Redefine Love As She Sees Fit, Not As God Thinks It Ought To Be. The Author Is Unworthy Of His Own Characters.