I loved her enough to forget myself, my self-pitying despairs, and be content that something she thought happy was going to happen. - Truman Capote

Hot weather opens the skull of a city, exposing its white brain, and its heart of nerves, which sizzle like the wires inside a lightbulb. And there exudes a sour extra-human smell that makes the very stone seem flesh-alive, webbed and pulsing.

"A girl doesn't read this sort of thing without her lipstick." -Holly Golightly

Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade, just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.