Dying for love might be pitiable, but it wasn't much different, finally, from any other kind of dying.

God knows there certainly ought to be a window around here somewhere, for all of us.

People did change, and a change could be a bloom as well as a withering.

He knew it was possible for shame to be nursed and doctored like an illness, if you wanted to keep it separate from the rest of your life, but that didn't mean there'd be any way to keep from knowing it was there.

Remember what Anatole France said about the dog masturbating on your leg--'Sure, it's honest, but who needs it?

She was calm and quiet now with knowing what she had always known, what neither her parents nor Aunt Claire nor Frank nor anyone else had ever had to teach her: that if you wanted something to do something absolutely honest, something true, it always turned out to be a thing that had to be done alone.

Every man has a right to keep his own sentiments if he pleases.