there's something about Paris that gives you a mental slap all the time, and you can't just sit still and do nothing. You've got to work, to keep up with the pace, the sting in the atmosphere.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

We're not meant for happiness, you and I.

How lacking in intuition men could be in persuading themselves that mending some stranger's socks, and attending to his comfort, could content a woman.

...the routine of life goes on, whatever happens, we do the same things, go through the little performance of eating, sleeping, washing. No crisis can break through the crust of habit.

A familiar name on its own, however, does not carry its bearer far unless the talent is there, and the will to work.

I have no talent for making new friends, but oh such genius for fidelity to old ones.