Love taught me that your honour did but jest.

How strange too and unfamiliar to think that one had been loved, that one's presence had once had the power to make a difference between happiness and dullness in another's day.

Grief and disappointment are like hate: they make men ugly with self-pity and bitterness. And how selfish they make us too.

It was like having a box of chocolates shut in the bedroom drawer. Until the box was empty it occupied the mind too much.

Insecurity twists meanings and poisons trust. In a closely beleaguered city every sentry is a potential traitor.

Human nature is not black and white but black and grey.

I measured love by the extent of my jealousy.