The past is an old armchair in the attic, the present an ominous ticking sound, and the future is anybody&#39;s guess.

Love is a gross exaggeration of the difference between one person and everybody else.

I the day was wild so o shake a drink in my melt shaker. Then once I shake I disappear.
An was not at the bar anymore but in the car. Wondering should how did I get here with this drink which clearly does not have me thinking. Oh no I did not drink it and I was lost to the mood now hmmm and the heavy rain on traffic lights.

Her mind was an hotel where facts came and went like transient lodgers, without leaving their address behind, and frequently without paying for their board.

Written By Edith Wharton

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