You cannot let your parents anywhere near your real humiliations.

I felt in him what women feel in men, something so tender, swollen, tyrannical, absurd; I would never take the consequences of interfering with it.

I read a book called The Art of Loving. A lot of things seemed clear while I was reading it but afterwards I went back to being more or less the same.

That's something I think is growing on me as I get older: happy endings.

Now i no longer believe that people's secrets are defined and communicable, or their feelings full-blown and easy to recognize.

The conversation of kisses. Subtle, engrossing, fearless, transforming.

They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life.