He had won but he didn't feel like a winner.

There's never been anything funny about a woman dying for love.

Being alone has nothing to do with how many people are around.

A man could rant and smash and grapple with the State Police, and still the sprinklers whirled at dusk on every lawn and the television droned in every living room.

Know what we did, Lucy? You and me? We spent our whole lives yearning. Isn't that the God damndest thing?

What a subtle, treacherous thing it was to let yourself go that way! Because once you've started it was terribly difficult to stop; soon you were saying "I'm sorry, of course you're right", and "Whatever you think is best", and "you're the most wonderful and valuable thing int he world", and the next thing you knew all honesty, all truth, was as far away and glimmering, as hopelessly unattainable as the world of the golden people.

The hell with "love" anyway, and with every other phony, time-wasting, half-assed emotion in the world.