Nothing Like Fear To Wash Your Mind

But If Anything Will Turn Me Off, It's A Very Practiced Approach, As If The Man Has Done It A Thousand Times Before, To A Lot Of Different Women. Which Always Seems To Imply That I Am No Different From All The Rest. Not Flattering.

Love, Whether It's Friendship Or More, Is Like A Cup. It Fills Up Drop By Drop, Until One Last Drop And The Cup Is Full. The Liquid Hangs There Almost Above The Rim, Hangs There On Surface Tension Alone And You Know That One More Drop And It Will Spill Over.

A Crowd Is An Elemental Thing. A Word, A Glance, And A Crowd Becomes A Mob.

Edward's Grief If You Die Will Be A Terrible Thing. It Will Hurt Him, A Lot, And Men Like Him Never Grieve Alone. He Will Spread His Grief All Over Us, Not Because We Failed, But Because It'll Give Him Something To Focus On So He Doesn't Have To Feel The Pain.

Twenty-three Stories Up And All I Could See Out The Windows Was Grey Smog. They Could Call It The City Of The Angels If They Wanted To, But If There Were Angels Out There, They Had To Be Flying Blind.