I seldom read on beaches or in gardens. You can't read by two lights at once, the light of day and the light of the book. You should read by electric light, the room in shadow, and only the page lit up.

Their voices reach out into the empty yard, plunge deep into the hills, go right through the heart.

All that remains of that minute is time in all its purity, bone-white time.

A prolonged silence ensues. The reason for the silence is our growing interest one for the other. No one is aware of it, no one yet; no one? am I quite sure?

...as long as nothing happens between them, the memory is cursed with what hasn't happened.

Get rid of things or you'll spend your whole life tidying up.

I seldom read on beaches or in gardens. You can't read by two lights at once, the light of day and the light of the book. You should read by electric light, the room in shadow, and only the page lit up.