That would be the death of anyone - to recognize false hopes with a certainty. One mustn't know that. If it is offered, refuse!

I don't read books for pleasure, but in desperation.

Not that believing such things has anything to do with whether they are true. You see that, don't you?

We tire differently if we love or love not.

The books turn out to be about things afterwards. I don't go into them with concepts, for the most part.

Sunday was always the best of days for being the self you had intended to be, but were not, for one reason or another.

The old man began to sing. His voice was very lovely and obviously a part of something that the world had disposed of in its haste, evidence of a grander, kinder past.