The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.

None of us suffers as much as we should, or loves as much as we say. Love is the first lie; wisdom the last.

Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.

New York rose out of the water like a great wave that found it impossible to return again and so remained there in horror, peering out of the million windows man had caged it with.

I couldn't ever boil potatoes over the heat of your affection. Your love would never bridge a gap; it wouldn't even fill up the hole that the mice came through.

We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.

The very condition of Woman is so subject to Hazard, so complex, and so grievous, that to place her at one moment is but to displace her at the next.