The reason authors almost always put a dedication on a book, Annie, is because their selfishness even horrifies themselves in the end.

The smoking butt end of the year, November's dark iron has come to Tarker's Mills.

In a book, all would have gone according to plan.... but life was so fucking untidy - what could you say for an existence where some of your most crucial conve…

Love is like dying.

Que sais-je?

Wir sein pettler. Hoc est verum.

The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest.