Writing is a refuge from unhappiness, but has its own sorrows.

Placing the extraordinary at the center of the ordinary, as realism does, is a great comfort to us stay-at-homes.

Only death goes deeper than sex.

Regret leads to overeating and naps.

Nothing easier than to confuse busyness with goodness.

Forgetting and remembering are governed by laws, but we cannot find out what they are.

Stupidity is a fact of life, but unmentionable. The new Prudery.