Art must take reality by surprise. It takes those moments which are for us merely a moment, plus a moment, plus another moment, and arbitrarily transforms them into a special series of moments held together by a major emotion.

It isn't common sense that is paramount in this world, it's wishful thinking.

The one thing I regret is that I will never have time to read all the books I want to read.

It seems to me that there are two kinds of trickery: the "fronts" people assume before one another's eyes, and the "front" a writer puts on the face of reality.

He lifted me up and held me close against him, my head on his shoulder. At that moment I loved him. In the morning light he was as golden, as soft, as gentle as myself, and he would protect me.

We are torn between the craving to know and the despair of having known.

I feel sorry for men. They have more problems than women, because they now have to compete with women.