Ernest chose to go, she finally thinks, watching the fire turn the papers black. He loved her but he could not live anymore.

But writers and their woes: they couldn't be parted. Not for anything.

Children, Hadley thinks to herself, children are more civilised than this gang on the sauce.

She kissed him but he didn't seem to recognize it.

The hangover: such a cure, she thinks, for overthinking.

Talents too many, not enough of any.

The longer I don't write, the more I hurt.

I want to be a good man, a good writer.""Be one or the other, Ernest, not both.

No man should be asked to live with so much sadness, and with so little promise of relief.

Martha thanks Sylvia, gesturing with the book. "Just remember not to try to hard with understanding it, " Sylvia says. "Like people, they're best not to be too thoroughly understood.

Paris without a good book is like a pretty girl with only one eye.

To find the inner peace be utmost honest to yourself.

Screw fairy tales. My life was way more interesting.

Life is a book. There are many pages to be written.

Please don't worry. It's a psychological complaint, common amongst ex-librarians. You see, she thinks she's a coffee table edition.

While traditional BI is interested in the 'what and the where,' data scientists are interested in the 'how and why'.

Our enemies are also seeking the abilities to sabotage our power grid, our financial institutions, our air traffic control systems.

The churches must learn humility as well as teach it.

For me, skiing is a physical necessity. I have a need for risk.

I'm right-handed, whereas the fellow in my mirror is left-handed

It's not so simple to just walk into the desert and cleanse your soul like some new age, snap your fingers, it's all done.