The scornful nostril and the high head gather not the odors that lie on the track of truth.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
Sorrow was like the wind. It came in gusts.
Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
The crux... is that the vast majority of the mass of the universe seems to be missing.
What is the use of a house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?
Over the years your bodies become walking autobiographies, telling friends and strangers alike of the minor and major stresses of your lives.