Wir sind alle Lügner, wenn es uns nützt.
Which of us has not felt that the character we are reading in the printed page is more real than the person standing beside us?
She felt as if the grave stones were whispering those names to her as she walked past... Those stones that bore no names seemed like closed mouths, sad mouths that forgotten how to speak. But perhaps...
I will try to write books until I drop dead.