shadows of love, inebriations of love, foretastes of love, trickles of love, but never yet the one true love.

I know the mistake I am making. I see the exits in life.

History is said to be written by the victors. Fiction, by contrast, is largely the work of injured bystanders.

She said the reason that love is so painful is that it always amounts to two people wanting more than two people can give.

Promiscuity is the death of love.

what makes us so afraid is the thing we half see, or half hear, as in a wood at dusk, when a tree stump becomes an animal and a sound becomes a siren. And most of that fear is the fear of not knowing, of not actually seeing correctly.

Irish? In truth I would not want to be anything else. It is a state of mind as well as an actual country. It is being at odds withother nationalities, having quite different philosophy about pleasure, about punishment, about life, and about death. At least it does not leave one pusillanimous.