There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire: it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.

Love is a trap. When it appears, we see only its light, not its shadows.

You look like some cousin of mine.” The latter would work only if you were Asian, but even then it’s a little creepy, the implication being “the cousin I have always wanted to undress and ejaculate on.

The request for an advice when you have already decided is not a request but the campaign of your best option in your heart.

Written By Davies

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