The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.

I could not ask forgiveness for something I had not done. As scapegoat, I could only bear the fault.

I wish I was a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls.

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

He lacked tenderness; he was rude; and he had more than a streak of cruelty in him; he was a thief and a liar. He stood for everything she feared and hated and despised; but she knew she could love him... This was no choice made with the mind.

It wouldn't make for sanity would it, living with the devil.

People who travel are always fugitives.