He dares not concern himself with the future for fear of disturbing the present.

The larger loneliness of our lives evolves from our unwillingness to spend ourselves, stir ourselves. We are always damping down our inner weather, permitting ourselves the comforts of postponement, of rehearsals

Here's to another year and let's hope it's above ground.

The scolding voice is her own, so abrasive and quick, yet so powerless to move her.

It occurs to her that she should record this flash of insight in her journal - otherwise she is sure to forget, for she is someone who is always learning and forgetting and obliged to learn again.

This is why I read novels: so I can escape my own unrelenting monologue.

The recounting of a life is a cheat...even our own stories are obscenely distorted.