Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope; it is impossible.
Writers do not find subjects; subjects find them.
children like change - for one thing, they never anticipate regret.
Exhibitionism and a nervous wish for concealment, for anonymity, thus battle inside the buyer of any piece of clothing.
I know that I have in my make-up layers of synthetic experiences, and that the most powerful of my memories are only half true.
When I read a story, I relive the moment from which it sprang. A scene burned itself into me, a building magnetized me, a mood orseason of Nature's penetrated me, history suddenly appeared to me in some tiny act, or a face had begun to haunt me before I glanced at it.