We hide the truer part of ourselves when we love.

I crossed the room, and what you did was to feel my hair over and over again and in different ways, touch it, with the palm of your hand... felt it, strands of hair, with your fingers, touched it as if it were cloth, the way a child touches its favorite surfaces.

There was I, devouring books and yet allowing a man who had never read a book to walk me home for a bit of harmless fumbling on the front steps.

jealousy is the direct result of self-betrayal.

Recollection is not something that I can summon up, it simply comes and I am the servant of it.

There was always a real reason for everything - why spoons tarnished, and jam furred, and people declined into God, or drink, or card games.

Sometimes one word can recall a whole span of life.