I think that the desire to be cruel and to hurt (with words because any other way might be dangerous to ourself) is part of human nature. Parties are battles (most parties), a conversation is a duel (often). Everybody's trying to hurt first, to get in the dig that will make him or her feel superior, feel triumph.

I sit at my window and the words fly past me like birds — with God's help I catch some.

Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud - well down - and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.

The woman had a humble, cringing manner. Of course, she had discovered that, having neither money nor virtue, she had better be humble if she knew what was good for her.

I've been so ridiculous all my life that a little bit more or a little bit less hardly matters now.

Have all beautiful things sad destinies?

She’ll have no lover, for I don’t want her and she’ll see no other.