I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go

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

Speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again.

Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.

Men get to be a mixture of the charming mannerisms of the women they have known.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.

How the unforgettable faces of dusk would blend to her, the myriad footsteps, a thousand overtures, would blend to her footsteps; and there would be more drunkenness than wine in the softness of her eyes on his.