I clasped his face in both hands as I kissed him. “You don’t know how I need you, how I love you, how I always have,” I whispered in his ear. Maybe he would find me more charming on account of what’s befallen me – the unexpected horror I’ve seen, the inevitable pain I’ve endured. It’s an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater luster to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn’t destroy us, if it doesn’t burn away the optimism and the spirit.
-Anne Rice
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