There were days when she was unhappy, she did not know why,--when it did not seem worthwhile to be glad or sorry, to be alive or dead; when life appeared to her like a grotesque pandemonium and humanity like worms struggling blindly toward inevitable annihilation.

Was he a pleasant man hiding behind a mask of seeming carelessness or an unpleasant man hiding behind a mask of charm &amp; smiles? Or like most humans, was he a dizzying mix of contradictory charactersticks?

Love prisons are filled with the breaking of heart treason.

Written By Stephen King

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