That she had so completely recovered her sanity was a source of sadness to her. One should never be cured of one's passion.

I know all one can know when one knows nothing.

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

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.

She says people ought to learn to live like them, with the body abandoned in a wilderness, and in the mind the memory of a single kiss, a single word, a single look to stand for a whole love.

You alone became the outer surface of my life, the side I never see, and you will be that, the unknown part of me, until I die.

What she said was always strange. It had happened long ago. It seemed insignificant. And yet it was something you remembered forever. The words as well as the story. The voice as much as the words.