“Her fingertips were always covered in ink. [She] filled pages in a wonderful, unstoppable way. Watching her handwriting was like watching a cat play with a string. She was a girl who had been born inspired.”
— When We Lost Our Heads, Heather O’Neill
siir-poesia
Intuition is like the ear for music. You look at a person and you can perceive if he is wrong...
Certainly hell is burning with love, for someone who belongs to another heaven.
