The passing years often rob people of the truth. But then again, those passing years also allow people to recreate the truth.

Good decorating is a story, Pleasant. It’s a story of taste. It’s a story of personality, of character. Look at any good decorated room and I defy you to tell me it doesn’t have a story to tell. When I see a well painted room I want to meet the storyteller behind the color chosen. I truly do. Show me a man with taste and I’ll show you a man with characte.

He put his head up to the sky and closed his eyes. The tear that fell down his cheek glistened in the sun and remained there, like the impression of a scar.

Insinuation is not truth, just conjecture.

The ashes of our mistakes are between us. There’s still smoke from the fire, isn’t there?

Memories that cease to be painful are still nostalgic and nostalgia made her sad, always about a loss of time.

He stood there breathing hard, getting fat on bad news.

Little bastard would never get as tall as the tales he told.

It was way too soon to feel my virginity was flirting with a sudden death.

She would have preferred being beautiful to looking as if she were perpetually sucking on sour drops.