I noticed that she wore her evening dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes-there was a jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk upon a golf course on clean, crisp, mornings.

This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.

All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.

in crowded rooms they would form words with their lips for each other's eyes

She saw something awful in the very simplicity she failed to understand.

But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.

If you try to create a type, you may end with nothing. If you do a good job of creating an individual, you may succeed at creating a type.