“She wished it were evening now, wished for the great relief of the calendar inking itself out, of day done and night coming, of ice cubes knocking about in a glass beneath the whisky spilling in, that fine brown affirmation of need.”
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“A breathless Death is not so cold as a Death that breathes.”
“Ember fades, love fleets. Autumn sings, silent parting songs.”
“Whether anybody comes to convince me or not a part of my life does always ache arresting my chest.”