To comfort me is like the wrong memory at the wrong place or time: if one is lonely one prefers discomfort.

We are all of us resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to.

One gets started, and then, suddenly, one cannot remember what toothpaste they use . . . the moment comes when a character does or says something you hadn't thought about. At that moment he's alive and you leave it to him.

I couldn't have thought of her more. Even vacancy was crowded with her.

You cannot control what you love--you watch it driving recklessly towards the broken bridge, the torn-up track, the horror of seventy years ahead.

But I'm a bad priest, you see. I know--from experience--how much beauty Satan carried down with him when he fell. Nobody ever said the fallen angels were the ugly ones. Oh, no, they were just as quick and light and . . .

To comfort me is like the wrong memory at the wrong place or time: if one is lonely one prefers discomfort.