The hangover became a part of the day as well allowed-for as the Spanish siesta.

They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together.

They were still in the happier stage of love. They were full of brave illusions about each other, tremendous illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered. They both seemed to have arrived there with an extraordinary innocence as though a series of pure accidents had driven them together, so many accidents that at last they were forced to conclude that they were for each other. They had arrived with clean hands, or so it seemed, after no traffic with the merely curious and clandestine.

The reason one writes isn't the fact he wants to say something. He writes because he has something to say.

So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight - watching over nothing.

all the time something within her was crying for a decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately — and the decision must be made by some force — of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality — that was close at hand

the best contacts are when one knows the obstacles and still wants to preserve a relation.