Love, is it? First you lose your appetite, then you lose your tongue, then you take leave of your senses, and that's love!

One wants more time, more youth. That is it. That is all one asks for - nothing but that, a little more time. Hear it running by! Listen! In the night, in the morning, at noon, at even, rushing by, silent, stealthy, trying to hoodwink you by the fixed appearance of things that seem not to change; but never stopping. Oh, to stop it! Oh, to get it back! Oh, to dig one's toes in and refuse to be rushed headlong towards the brink!

It is a pity we do not die when our lives are finished.

I see no reason why I should not live on indefinitely just as I have done, and on the whole I am more comfortable here than in Purgatory, a place that I imagine to be like the suburbs of London.

Love, is it? First you lose your appetite, then you lose your tongue, then you take leave of your senses, and that's love!

children had no place in love affairs. Children ought to be born to widows and old maids.

I am a woman. My life is a long, strong, twisted rope, made up of a number of human relationships, nothing more.