After all this, what happened? What happened was that, as soon as I had the slightest chance of a place to hide in, I crept into it and hid. Well, sometimes it's a fine day isn't it? Sometimes the skies are blue. Sometimes the air is light, easy to breathe. And there is always tomorrow.

Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.

One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.

Soon he'll come in again and kiss me, but differently. He'll be different and so I'll be different. It'll be different. I thought, 'It'll be different, different. It must be different.

Of course she had some pathetic illusions about herself or she would not be able to go on living.

I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.

It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.