It's not the vote women need, we should be armed.

In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature.

I knew I had done something awful. I had killed love, before I even knew the enormity of what love meant.

In our deepest moments we say the most inadequate things.

Wherever there were horses or ponies the mushrooms always sprang up.

Ideally I'd like to spend two evenings a week talking to Proust and another conversing with the Holy Ghost.

Death in its way comes just as much of a surprise as birth.