I looked at this man and thought: Oh, how we are going to hurt each other.

He tried to reconstruct the story in his mind, but it kept getting confused, bleeding into itself like watercolors.

It is best in the end to let women see to their own vengeance.

If one did not have at least a little luck, one would never survive childhood. But luck can be spent, like money; and lost, like a memory; and wasted, like a life.

You only had to choose which me to talk to, for, you know, we all change our manners, depending on who has come to chat. One doesn’t behave at all the same way to a grandfather as to a bosom friend, to a professor as to a curious niece.

... but as has been said, September read often, and liked it best when words did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.

Bad luck relies on absolutely perfect timing.