...there must be something she wanted; and that therefore she was no lady.

When one is a child, the disposition of objects, tables and chairs and doors, seems part of the natural order: a house-move lets in chaos - as it does for a dog.

Only in a house where one has learnt to be lonely does one have this solicitude for things. One's relation to them, the daily seeing or touching, begins to become love, and to lay one open to pain.

Habit is not mere subjugation, it is a tender tie; when one remembers habit it seems to have been happiness.

Good-byes breed a sort of distaste for whomever you say good-bye to; this hurts, you feel, this must not happen again.

The wish to lead out one's lover must be a tribal feeling; the wish to be seen as loved is part of one's self-respect.

I think the main thing, don't you, is to keep the show on the road.