A sense of the fundamental decencies is parceled out unequally at birth.

Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.

Look at that,' she whispered, and then after a moment: 'I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.

Intelligence is a mere instrument of circumstances.

They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

You'll find another.' God! Banish the thought. Why don't you tell me that 'if the girl had been worth having she'd have waited for you'? No, sir, the girl really worth having won't wait for anybody.

I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart.