At eighteen our convictions are hills from which we look; at forty-five they are caves in which we hide.

I want to die violently instead of fading out sentimentally.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.

Women are necessarily capable of almost anything in their struggle for survival and can scarcely be convicted of such man-made crimes as “cruelty.

You're a rotten driver,' I protested. 'Either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn't to drive at all.' 'I am careful.' 'No, you're not.' 'Well, other people are,' she said lightly. 'What's that got to do with it?' 'They'll keep out of my way,' she insisted. 'It takes two to make an accident.' 'Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.' 'I hope I never will,' she answered. 'I hate careless people. That's why I like you.' Her grey, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her.

It is not life that's complicated, it's the struggle to guide and control life.