There is no pain compared to that of loving a woman who makes her body accessible to one and yet who is incapable of delivering her true self -- because she does not know where to find it.

She took kisses like so many coats of paint […] how long and how vainly I searched for excuses which might make her amorality if not palatable at lest understandable. I realize now the time I wasted in this way; instead of enjoying her and turning aside from these preoccupations with the thought, ‘She is untrustworthy as she is beautiful. She takes love as plants do water, lightly, thoughtlessly.

It is not peace we seek but meaning.

I don’t believe one reads to escape reality. A person reads to confirm a reality he knows is there, but which he has not experienced.

How grudging memory is, and how bitterly she clutches the raw material of her daily work.

Life is like a cucumber. One minute it's in your hand, the next it's up you ass.

Love is like trench warfare - you cannot see the enemy, but you know he is there and that it is wiser to keep your head down.