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The seasons long for each other, like men and women, in order that they may be cured of their excesses.
Everything tires with time, and starts to seek some opposition, to save it from itself.
She wanted nothing that he could offer her, except perhaps his absence.
The flawlessly beautiful were flawlessly happy, weren’t they? To Kirsty this had always seemed self-evident. Tonight, however, the alcohol made her wonder if envy hadn’t blinded her. Perhaps to be flawless was another kind of sadness.
She might well regret this tomorrow, but tomorrow would have to take care of itself. For tonight, she was flying.
If nothing was worth living for it followed, didn’t it, that there was nothing worth dying for either.
