The Press blew, the public stared, hands flew out like a million little fishes after bread.
One can lie, but truth is more interesting.
Pity is exhaustible. What a terrible discovery!
It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) --to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart.
After forty years of marriage we still stood with broken swords in our hands.
I am not a born writer, but I was born a writer.