I recognize limitations in the sense that I've read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky and Shakespeare . . . Aside from that I don't think of limiting myself.

At night, time becomes a calm sea. It goes on for ever.

No one is more conventional than a woman who is falling out of love.

For this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.

All my life, I will continue obstinately to write about love, solitude and passion among the kind of people I know. The rest don't interest me.

Houses are for private living, for friends, and for dogs.

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