I'm Not Ritualistic About Writing. I Try

When The Soul Has Left The Body, It Belongs To Death. And It Cannot Be Taken Back Without A Price.

She Shook Her Head. She Was So Pale Under The Diffuse Lamp-light That She Looked Almost Transparent, As If Simon Could Have Looked Right Through Her. The Way, He Supposed, He Always Had.

I Get No Sense From His Note At All,” Said Will, Bounding To His Feet, “except That He Can Quote Tennyson’s Lesser Poetry. Sophie, How Quickly Can You Have Tessa Ready?” “half An Hour,” Said Sophie, Not Looking Up From The Dress. “meet Me In The Courtyard In Half An Hour, Then,” Said Will. “i’ll Wake Cyril. And Be Prepared To Swoon At My Finery.

God Knows We’re All Drawn To What’s Beautiful And Broken.

I Want To Kiss You One More Time Before I Die.