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

I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars. A time I love. One feels half disembodied, sitting like a shadow at the door of one’s being while the dark tide rises. Then comes the moon, marvellously serene, and small stars, very merry for some reason of their own. It is so easy to forget, in a worldly life, to attend to these miracles.

Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back.

Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast. The very idea made one shudder. All the same, two minutes later Jose and Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look that only comes from whipped cream.

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

If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools.

If you wish to live, you must first attend your own funeral.