[b]Sarah Waters
I barely knew I had skin before I met you.[/b]
I wonder [of course] if anyone had ever thought that of me.
And perhaps there is a limit to the grieving that the human heart can do. As when one adds salt to a tumbler of water, there comes a point where simply no more will be absorbed.
It never really works like that, does it?
Why is it we can never love the people we ought to?
And who the hell might they be, he thought.
Respect your characters, even the minor ones. In art, as in life, everyone is the hero of their own particular story; it is worth thinking about what your minor characters’ stories are, even though they may intersect only slightly with your protagonist’s.
Just out of curiosity, does anyone do that here?
Some things are so frightful that a bit of madness is the only sane response. You know that, don’t you?
Oh, yeah. But it’s always easier said than done. Or almost always.
Even ashes are a part of your freedom.
Not that you will know it at the time.