How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — like rags and shreds of your very life.

Regret is an appalling waste of time.

I always felt that the great high privilege, relief and comfort of friendship was that one had to explain nothing.

You might drop your heart into me and you'd never hear it touch bottom.

How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — like rags and shreds of your very life.

The ostrich burying its head in the sand does at any rate wish to convey the impression that its head is the most important part of it.

It is strange that there are times when I feel the stars are not at all solemn: they are secretly gay.