There's nothing sadder to me than associations held together by nothing but the glue of postage stamps. If you can't see or hear or touch a man, it's best to let him go.

Maybe ever'body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.

She wasn't happy, but then she wasn't unhappy. She wasn't anything. But I don't believe anyone is a nothing. There has to be something inside, if only to keep the skin from collapsing. This vacant eye, listless hand, this damask cheek dusted like a doughnut with plastic powder, had to have a memory or a dream.

Sometimes, a lie is told in kindness. I don't believe it ever works kindly. The quick pain of truth can pass away, but the slow, eating agony of a lie is never lost.

A man who tells secrets or stories must think of who is hearing or reading, for a story has as many versions as it has readers.

The warfare between the unaroused male and female is constant and ferocious. Each blames the other for his loss of soul.

It’s a hard thing to leave any deeply routine life, even if you hate it.