The very good people didn't convince me; I felt they'd never been tempted. But you knew; you understood; you had felt the world outside tugging at one with all its golden hands — and yet you hated the things it asks of one; you hated happiness bought by disloyalty and cruelty and indifference.

What's the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose 'em out.

It was too late for happiness - but not too late to be helped by the thought of what I had missed. That is all I haved lived on - don't take it from me now

If only we'd stop trying to be happy, we could have a pretty good time.

To have you here, you mean-in reach and yet out of reach? To meet you in this way, on the sly? It's the very reverse of what I want.

And you'll sit beside me, and we'll look, not at visions, but at realities.

there are lots of ways of answering a letter - and writing doesn't happen to be mine.