“Refills are free,” the waitress tells us with a frown, like she’s hoping we’re not the kind of people who ask for endless refills. I am already pretty sure we are exactly those people.”
“People empty me. I have to get away to refill.”
“I was hoping against hope he'd refill his Prozac so we could be in love again, but, sadly, that never happened.”
“Her love was like cigarette smoke stirred into coffee. I drank it so fast it made me cough, but she’s not offering a refill at any price.”
“...She's understood the power of stories. Their magical ability to refill the wounded part of people.”
“I had learned already never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.”