Our real fears are the sounds of footsteps walking in the corridors of our minds, and the anxieties, the phantom floatings, they create
Her last smile, which he watched from the compound until the bus concealed it in a dust-cloud, was the happiest thing he had ever seen in his long, hot, hard, unloving life.
I want to know how it will end.
I want to be sure of what it will cost.
I want to strangle the stars for all they promised me.