Don't say 'wife.' I'm your mistress. Wife's such an ugly word. Your 'permanent mistress' is so much more tangible and desirable… .

Possibly it had occurred to him the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. [...] It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.

Never miss a party...good for the nerves--like celery.

Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.

It appears that every man's insomnia is as different from his neighbours as are their daytime hopes and aspirations.

Great art is the contempt of a great man for small art.

Often I think writing is a sheer paring away of oneself leaving always something thinner, barer, more meagre.