The paradox of romantic love -- that what one possesses, one can no longer desire -- was at work.

Meeting people unlike oneself does not enlarge one's outlook; it only confirms one's idea that one is unique.

One's sentiments -- call them that -- one's fidelities are so instinctive that one hardly knows they exist: only when they are betrayed or, worse still, when one betrays them does one realize their power.

She walked about with the rather fated expression you see in photographs of girls who have subsequently been murdered, but nothing had so far happened to her.

the slight sense of degeneracy induced by reading novels before luncheon

we can surmount the anger we feel. To find oneself like a young tree inside a tomb is to discover the power to crack the tomb and grow up to any height.

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