Many eyes go through the meadow, but few see the flowers in it
I had just turned thirty. That was enough in itself to be depressed about. I never thought I would be this age and feel this worthless. I was supposed to be “somebody.
I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.
Maybe we’re from the same star.
Charlee has my arm. She has my arm-my arm that’s rigid from pleasure, from her touch-in her little fingers. She holds my other one, too and she’s right there, that sweet candy perfume stripping the rest of the strength from my body, and it escapes in a soft, breathy sigh.
Not for the first time, I reflected that intimacy and romance are not synonymous.
I’m not a lot of trouble,
Love is splendid light.
You’re like this…this goddess pretending to be human… And I don’t know which one I love.
Once you figure out who you are and what you love about yourself, I think it all kind of falls into place.
I mean, that star over there is blinking at me madly now, but for how long? An hour or two, or for the next million years? And how long will we sit here like this? Just another moment, or the rest of our lives? You know which one I’d prefer…