For hours, for days, for years, she had wandered endlessly within herself but never met anybody, nobody.

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

Soon, nostalgia will be another name for Europe.

It is, perhaps, a better thing to be valued only as an object of passion than never to be valued at all.

To pin your hopes upon the future is to consign those hopes to a hypothesis, which is to say, a nothingness. Here and now is what we must contend with.

Some cities are women and must be loved; others are men and can only be admired or bargained with

Spindly branches of buttercups were secreted among gleaming stems still moist at the roots from last night's rain that had washedand refreshed the entire wood, had dowered it in poignant transparency, the unique, inconsolable quality of rainy countries, as if all was glimpsed through tears.