Dialogue in fiction should be reserved for the culminating moments and regarded as the spray into which the great wave of narrative breaks in curving towards the watcher on the shore.

It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.

Set wide the window. Let me drink the day.

There's nothing grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.

Who's 'they'? Why don't you all get together and be 'they' yourselves?

Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.

Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.