The scrape and snap of Keds on loose alley pebbles seems to catapult their voices high into the moist March air blue above the wires.

Being able to write becomes a kind of shield, a way of hiding, a way of too instantly transforming pain into honey.

We take our bearings, daily, from others. To be sane is, to a great extent, to be sociable.

Natural beauty is essentially temporary and sad, hence the impression of obscene mockery which artificial flowers give us.

Dream golf is simply golf played on another course. We chip from glass tables onto moving stairways; we swing in a straightjacket, through masses of cobweb, and awaken not with any sense of unjust hazard but only with a regret that the round can never be completed, and that one of our phantasmal companions has kept the scorecard.

In all the green world nothing feels as good as a woman's good nature.

Truth should not be forced; it should simply manifest itself, like a woman who has in her privacy reflected and coolly decided to bestow herself upon a certain man.