He had discovered that people who allow themselves to be blown about by the winds of emotion and impulse are always unhappy people.

The perpetual hunger to be beautiful and that thirst to be loved which is the real curse of Eve.

If all good, respectable people had one face, I'd spit in it.

A room is, after all, a place where you hide from the wolves. That's all any room is.

Sometimes the Earth trembles; sometimes you can feel it breathe.

I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.

The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.