No one should live beyond 30.

So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.

That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.

Scratch a Yale man with both hands and you'll be lucky to find a coast-guard. Usually you find nothing at all.

I guess I'm the Black Death,' he said slowly. 'I don't seem to bring people happiness any more.

She admired him; she was used to clutching her hands together in his wake and heaving audible sighs.

Her beautiful eyes and lips were very grave as she made her choice, and Anthony thought again how naive was her every gesture; she took all the things of life for hers to choose from and apportion, as though she were continually picking out presents for herself from an inexhaustible counter.