She was an auxiliary nurse but training to be a true nurse because that was her calling, to serve mankind. She was a Martha. There were Marys and Marthas, but Marys got all the limelight because of being Christ's handmaiden, but Marthas were far more sincere.

In every question and every remark tossed back and forth between lovers who have not played out the last fugue, there is one question and it is this: Is there someone new?

August is a wicked month.

When you fall in love, it is spring no matter when. Leaves falling make no difference, they are from another season.

That is the mystery about writing: it comes out of afflictions, out of the gouged times, when the heart is cut open.

never forget this moment, the hum of the bee, the saffron threads of the flower, the drawn blinds, nature's assiduousness and human cruelty.

If the Holy Communion touched my teeth, I thought that was a mortal sin