A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey's gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind.
John CheeverEverything outside was elegant and savage and fleshy. Everything inside was slow and cool and vacant. It seemed a shame to stay inside.
John CheeverWhen the beginnings of self destruction enter the heart, it seems no bigger than a grain of sand.
John CheeverThe need to write comes from the need to make sense of one's life and discover one's usefulness.
John Cheever