Oblivion seemed the only reasonable option.

This is the pain-pleasure of having newly adult children; they're innocent and ruthless in forgetting their sweet old dependence.

It was always the view of my parents...that hot weather encouraged loose morals among young people.

That love which does not build a foundation on good sense is doomed.

A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.

The evasions of her little novel were exactly those of her life. Everything she did not wish to confront was also missing from her novella--and was necessary to it.

It was thought, perception, sensations that interested her, the conscious mind as a river through time, and how to represent its onward roll, as well as all the tributaries that would swell it, and the obstacles that would divert it. If only she could reproduce the clear light of a summer's morning.