I looked out at the street beyond the overhang. The rain was coming in at gray angled streaks. One of my hands moved to her cheek. I closed my eyes. Her skin was wet from the rain and I thought of tears.

I believe in love the verb, not the noun.

As much preparation as I had made for the old man Salieri, gestures and so on, the fact is after sitting for hours, your movements are kind of slow.

Bienvenido a Kazam (...), donde los horrores más inimaginables comparten el día a día con la perplejidad absoluta y el azar más rabioso. Definirlo como manicomio sería un insulto hasta para el más desquiciado de los manicomios.

Written By Jasper Fforde

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