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After the dress rehearsal that afternoon, someone had misplaced the vial of poison, and for lack of better, Romeo would have to commit suicide by eating Tic Tacs.

Anne Fortier

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Anne Fortier
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Novelist
Writer
DK
Lack
Misplaced
Eating
Rehearsal
Someone
Afternoon
Better
Poison
Would
Dress
Suicide
Vial
Dresses
Tics
Commit
Romeo

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There is lust and then there is love. They are related, but still very different things. To indulge in one requires little but honeyed speech and a change of clothes to obtain the other, by contrast, a man must give up his rib. In return, his woman will undo the sin of Eve, and bring him back into Paradise.
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Everything we say is a story. But nothing we say is just a story.
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Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.
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By the time we left college, I had become my own image: a dandelion in the flower bed of society. Kinda cute, but still a weed.
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I wish I had the power to flip my reality upside down like an hourglass, and that life wasn't a finite affair, but rather a perpetually recurring passage through a hole in time.
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Romeo was cute …” “Cute?” Alessandro rolled his eyes. “What kind of man is cute?” “… and an excellent dancer …” “Romeo had feet of lead! He said so himself!” “… but most importantly,” I concluded, “he had nice hands!
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In many ways, a degree in the history of ideas is the ideal training for an aspiring writer.
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.... death turns all men into great lovers. Would that they were equally ardent while the lady was still alive!
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And whether or not we had now paid our dues, he was my blessing, and I was his.
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Perhaps. But the firstborn of hope is tragedy.
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I think Shakespeare is everybody's treasure.
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She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.
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But he is an Italian, was Umberto's sensible reply. He doesn't care if you break some law a little bit, as long as you wear beautiful shoes. Are you wearing beautiful shoes? Are you wearing the shoes I gave you?...principessa? I looked down at my flip-flops. I guess I'm toast.
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When the old men fight, the young people die.
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It's what we call a dolce pazzia... a sweet madness. Once you feel it, you will never want to leave it.
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We are all cups, and our destiny is poured according to measures we cannot understand, cannot influence.
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Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow. Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps the wise spurn one to remain safe from the other, but I should rather choose to have my eyes burnt in their sockets than to have been born without.
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I absolutely believe the past had its share of warrior women who fought like men. Whether some of these were the actual Amazons from Greek myth is another matter.
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I did not know my soul until I saw it's reflection in your eyes.
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I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, “at nine o’clock. Don’t open your door to anyone else.” “Not even my balcony door?” “Especially not your balcony door.
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