It's a dead give away of an inexperienced writer if every character speaks with the same voice

...she looked like the sort of woman most men would want to get to know because they weren't sure what went on inside.

... the most insoluble problems are those which by their very nature can have no space within them for dreams.

The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another note. But we, when we put the thorns in our breasts, we know. We understand. And still we do it. Still we do it.

We're working-class people, which means we don't get rich or have maids. Be content with what you are and what you have.

What was sleep? A blessing, a respite from life, an echo of death, a demanding nuisance?

Yet there's something ominous about turning sixty-five. Suddenly old age is not a phenomenon which will occur; it has occurred.