I am not Cugel the Clever for nothing!
SUICIDE can be considered an act of MURDER committed on ONESELF
It may be necessary to stand on the outside of one is to see things clearly.
I don't pretend reality is the same for everyone.
Pain only matters when it happens to someone important.
To play someone I loved in my favourite fairytale as a kid is a total honour.
Thanks to nanny, I've got a deep understanding of Russian tales.
Apparently I'm well-known for my stories, my raconteur tales, that sort of thing.
We have to eat to live, and that's our timeless tale of tragedy.
Nobody has any conscience about adding to the improbabilities of a marvelous tale.
Maybe it's a tired tale, but without an education, you're not going to go anywhere.
It's really easy, once somebody passes away, for the tales about them to become taller, the good ones and the bad ones.
Fiction is based on reality unless you're a fairytale artist.
And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.
You know why I really hated you? With all that you had you were just so oblivious to it all. You didn't use your beauty. You didn't ever try to get what you wanted. You didn't deserve what you had. I did because I would have used it. And you just...l...
All those years of lurid magazine covers showing extremely nubile females being menaced in three distinct colors by assorted monstrosities; those horror movies, those invasion-from-outer-space novels, those Sunday supplement fright splashes—all tho...
He never looks you straight in the eye; or if he does, it is somehow vaguely, indefinitely; he does not pierce you with the hawk's eye or the falcon's gaze of a cavalry officer. The reason for that is that he sees, at one and the same time, both your...
That same moment he ordered the hateful portrait taken out. But that did not calm his inner agitation: all his feelings and all his being were shaken to their depths, and he came to know that terrible torment which, by way of a striking exception, so...
Will that be all?” I asked the pimply faced teen who ogled my exposed legs as if in heat. My pen tapped impatiently on the notepad while I waited for him to look up. Slowly his dull grey eyes roved over my body and a limp smile drew up his thin, cr...
Everybody has a ‘gripping stranger’ in their lives, Andy, a stranger who unwittingly possesses a bizarre hold over you. Maybe it’s the kid in cut-offs who mows your lawn or the woman wearing White Shoulders who stamps your book at the library�...
Here's what I think I'm having trouble with: this is what happiness is. When I was a kid, I thought I'd just get happier and happier as I got older, and have more things to be happy about. I based this theory on observation of select adults. The prob...
