In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed by that which it was nourished by. (Exerpt from Shakespearean Sonnet Number 73)
You're more than wonderful More than amazing The irreplaceable Love of my life You're so incredible In these arms tonight The irreplaceable Love of my life
The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties. — Brandon Sanderson, Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians