In America the cohesion was a matter of choice and will. But in Europe it was organic.

All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.

But then peace, peace! I am so mistrustful of it: so much afraid that it means a sort of weakness and giving in.

Love is never a fulfillment. Life is never a thing of continuous bliss. There is no paradise. Fight and laugh and feel bitter and feel bliss: and fight again. Fight, fight. That is life.

[U]nless a woman is held, by man, safe within the bounds of belief, she becomes inevitably a destructive force.

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

Now the only decent way to get something done is to get it done by somebody who quite likes doing it.