We are creatures of rage and madness and bitter tears and we knew that from the start. Our end was disaster and we knew that from the start. We knew it all from the start.

He had never smoked but then had he ever loved? Life made him love and love made him smoke.

He had the same look on his face that I had every day when I looked in the mirror. He was nothing more than a shell of a person.

Or rather, he was sad because that morning he'd understood that he'd understood nothing, because while he still understood nothing he wasn't sad at all, but now that he'd understood that he'd understood nothing he felt sad, if you follow.

I don't think all writers are sad, she said.I think it's the other way around—all sad people write.

I'd love to promise a lifetime to you. I just don't have one to give.

A shabby looking old man was walking their way. It must be a relative of one of the men, wandering in the wrong direction as they often did. Where were they going to put this one? He was wearing a pulled-down hat and he had a long beard. He was weaving towards her, his feet tripping unsteadily.Even though she could not see his face, there was something oddly familiar about him. She stared hard, trying to make it out. He put up his hand and waved. She stared again. 'That's your father,' said Tom.

You're terribly selfish, you know. I've loved you so long, and it was never dear or precious to you. I might as well have not loved you at all.

I threw his framed picture off my balcony just to hear my heart break.

Sadness is a state of sin.