Guys kick friendship all over just like a soccer, nonetheless it does not appear to crack. Girls deal with it like glass and it goes to items.

It is terribly amusing how many different climates of feelings one can go through in one day.

How one hates to think of oneself as alone. How one avoids it. It seems to imply rejection or unpopularity.

Flowers always have it - poise, completion, fulfillment, perfection . . .

The punctuation of anniversaries is terrible, like the closing of doors, one after another between you and what you want to hold on to.

Why is life speeded up so? Why are things so terribly, unbearably precious that you can't enjoy them but can only wait breathless in dread of their going?

Frenchwomen just never look ungroomed, do they?