She had borne so long the cruelty of belonging to him and not being claimed by him.

The tragedy is when you've got sex in the head instead of down where it belongs.

Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul.

The peasants of Sicily, who have kept their own wheat and make their own natural brown bread, ah, it is amazing how fresh and sweet and clean their loaf seems, so perfumed, as home-made bread used all to be before the war.

I am turned into a dream. I feel nothing, or I don't know what I feel. Yet it seems to me I am happy.

Those that go searching for love only make manifest their own lovelessness, and the loveless never find love, only the loving find love, and they never have to seek for it.

The profoundest of all sensualities is the sense of truth and the next deepest sensual experience is the sense of justice.