My tidiness, and my untidiness, are full of regret and remorse and complex feelings.

No adultery is bloodless.

I begin to suspect that England is the most melancholy country in the world.

When I write stories I am like someone who is in her own country, walking along streets that she has known since she was a child, between walls and trees that are hers.

And we are a people without tears. The things that moved our parents do not move us at all.

The course of our lives follows ancient and immutable laws, with an ancient, changeless rhythm. Dreams never come true, and the instant they are shattered, we realize how the greatest joys of life lie beyond the realm of reality. The instant they are shattered we are sick with longing for the days when they flamed within us. Our fate spends itself in this succession of hope and nostalgia.

My tidiness, and my untidiness, are full of regret and remorse and complex feelings.