literary

And what is gossip anyway?Just fragments of sad accounts, maneuvered and mutilated year after year for our sinful pleasure.

While he sweated out a story she bled put a poem. (Dark City Lights)

Nothing felt better to him than the act of waiting for her. As long as he believed it wasn__ in vain, he was able to justify his presence.

I hardly know her but whenever I see her I lose my mind. I know I should run away, but I can__.__hat__ called sexual attraction, honey,_ Max said. __t__ very nice. But be careful. It can burn you bad. Believe me I know.

Life was a swirl of mysteries, each one waiting to be plucked up and explored, but not necessarily solved. As the weight of responsibility bore down on a person, it could feel like a long list of chores leading up to the final one - figuring out how to die with dignity. But Quincy__ interpretation of his surroundings seemed a truer representation of life__ meaning, or rather, the lack of meaning other than to dazzle and delight and befuddle from cradle to grave.

It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late.

...the locale did not make him think of her, nor did most things. He felt no negativity about the time they had spent together, but simply did not dwell on it much. She had been a seat filler, memorable as the smiling face of a beautiful girl in the window of a passing train, inspiring a fleeting moment of joy and promise, immediately forgotten with the opening of that day__ newspaper.

If Audrey sensed what he was contemplating, her silence did not let on. He turned from the window and found her looking at him with a flawless poker face. It may have been attentiveness and curiosity to hear what he would say next, or perhaps she was expecting from him what women throughout the ages, often against their better judgment, had expected of men.

Once you break someone__ heart, you are forever its master.

On occasion he would think back to the fiercest passion it had been his pleasure to experience and reflect on what might have been. He would look upon the woman who occupied the opposite half of his bed and feel his life had not quite lived up to the promise of another day. These moments would be mercifully brief, or so he hoped.

Was happiness (which was perhaps achieved not by getting what you wanted, but rather, by obtaining what you didn__ know you wished for until it was in hand) a hologram that would continually change appearance with the slightest shift of perspective? Or maybe happiness by definition was a temporary state of being recognizable only in hindsight. It was impossible to catch what always managed to be overrun and end up in the rear view mirror.

Most people surrendered fairy tale hopes in exchange for cookie cutter lives

Life is short break the rules.forgive quickly, kiss slowly love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile...

His fierce appreciation of female beauty, the unrelenting desire he felt for their company, the pleasure he both derived and sought to give, had led him in and out of quite a few bedroom doors.

Perhaps all love stories no matter how varied are essentially the same.

And although he recognized that tenderness was not the same as passion, and certainly not equivalent to love, for now it seemed to him a suitable substitute.

String of fate brings two people together and it is love's job to keep them there.

Was she happy? She thought _ yes, reasonably so. Then again, what was happiness but the vast terrain between ecstasy and agony? Was this too small an ambition?