novel

_, wine!, the truth-serum so potent that all those who wish to live happy lives should abstain from drinking it entirely!... except of course when they are alone.

On occasion we stumble upon what seems to be a truth. Compared to the surrounding blackness, it sparkles and dazzles our eyes. But are these actually truths? Are our eyes really feasting upon light? Or just patches of grey?

Bearing witness from the sides of the room, ten or more lepers shouted at the bizarre scene, __iable! Diable!_ And then chants of some sort, or prayers, followed by more shouts of __iable!_ They were hurling these words at Moreau like stones.

A tightrope walker uncertain if he could make it to the other side probably would not. A race car driver wondering if he was taking a turn too fast was likely to lose control. If a man feared death, whether his own or the taking of another's, death would surely come calling.

A couple hours went by, and the storm began to turn back to the sea. The dark clouds rolled away, leaving white, fluffy ones in their place. We were safe, and the rock in the distance was still there. We stepped out of the car and walked over to the rock, noticing the families of seals were back again. The seals were strong and ready to make it through any storm that would fall their way. My parents_ love was still there; that is what love means. I envy that love, and I hoped to find it someday... and I did.

My breath is halted, like grasping for air after crying far too long and hard. It is like a hiccup, with a shivering sharpness of nerves. It is like icicles running down your spine or aluminum in your mouth, an eerie amount of emotions that cannot compare to the actual feelings you__e managed to live through. I just watched you die, I say to myself silently.

When you think about the period in which Agatha Christie's crime novels were written, they are actually quite edgy for the time.

Was love ever easy for anyone? If less complicated, would this make it less appreciated? Perhaps love was difficult for good reason. Perhaps everything on God__ green earth was the result of a flawless plan, even that which seemed most muddled.

When he spoke of love, it was in the manner of someone who can recite a phrase in a foreign language but has no idea what it means. He only knows that it sounds pretty.

You can__ blame yourself for what Socrates did. Those birds came because he wanted them to come, at least a part of him did. The pissed off part. Let that roll around in your brain for a while.__amie considered this. __o, Eddie. The hurt part, that__ what did it.__he crow shrieked again. It seemed louder, and that meant it was closer. Or maybe it was another crow, maybe several. Jamie and Eddie looked toward the sky, listening to the screams. Jamie spoke first.__e can__ let it happen again. We may be the only ones who know the truth about what Socrates can do._ __hat thought probably has occurred to Socrates too.

He now realized that right and wrong were intertwined notions. His arms could not differentiate between just and unjust causes. They only knew that they were empty.

Limp finally spoke. __o you think you could kill a person and not get all crazy about it?

I tried to hate you, to forgive you, all just to forget you, but I'm only capable of loving you. You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

You two are bound to one another. You always have been _ and you can't run away from what you are. No matter where you go, your feelings for her are going to follow you.

The novel remains for me one of the few forms...where we can describe, step by step, minute by minute, our not altogether unpleasant struggle to put ourselves into a viable and devout relationship to our beloved and mistaken world.

Did time move forward, through people, or did people move through it, like clouds across the sky?

A novel, though fiction, often speaks to the largest truths.

There are tales that rise like the early sun, breathe, and take on a life of their own. There are ones that flow quietly and effortlessly until time forsakes them, but there are others that fight until they find their way to the edge of reality, as if coming straight out of a dream.