Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.
A black cat crossed my path, and I stopped to dance around it widdershins and to sing the rhyme,
C'è un alone di stregoneria in tutta la cucina; la scelta degli ingredienti, il modo in cui vengono mescolati, grattugiati, sciolti, le infusioni e come si insaporiscono, le ricette prese da vecchi libri, gli utensili tradizionali
The battle of good and evil reduced to a fat woman standing in front of a chocolate shop, saying, Will I? Won’t I? in pitiful indecision.
I could do with a bit more excess. From now on I'm going to be immoderate--and volatile--I shall enjoy loud music and lurid poetry. I shall be rampant.
Sometimes survival is the worst alternative there is
I can smell her perfume, something flowery, too strong in this enclosed darkness. I wonder if this is temptation. If so, I am stone.
For a time, then, we stay. For a time. Till the changes.
Old habits never die. And when you've once been in the business of granting wishes, the impulse never quite leaves you
