Sad; so sad, those smoky-rose, smoky-mauve evenings of late Autumn, sad enough to pierce the heart.

Irish was a man of parts even if some of them didn't work too well.

You were the living image of the entire Platonic shadow show, an illusion that could fill my emptiness with marvellous, imaginary things as long as, just as long as, the movie lasted, and then all would all vanish.

The lovely Hazard girls', they used to call them. Huh. Lovely is as lovely does; if they looked like what they behave like, they'd frighten little children.

It shone on everyone, whether they had a contract or not. The most democratic thing I'd ever seen, that California sunshine.

Home is where the heart is and hence a movable feast.

Just because we're sisters under the skin doesn't mean we've got much in common.