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

I am the only real truth I know.

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

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

Human beings are struggling, and so they are egoists. But it's wrong to say that they are wholy cruel - it's a deformed view.

I watched her die many times. In my way, not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candlelight. In the long afternoons when the house was empty. Only the sun was there to keep us company. We shut him out. And why not? Very soon she was as eager for what's called loving as I was - more lost and drowned afterwards.

The rumble of the life outside was like the sound of the sea which was rising gradually around her.