The sweetness that all longed for night and day. Some tragedy might be idly guessed at-loss or illness. She had the luminosity of those about to die.

That was the trouble with experience; it taught you that most people were capable of anything, so that loyalty was never quite on firm ground -- or, rather, became a matter of pardoning offenses instead of denying their existence.

I have a superstition that if I talk about plot, it's like letting sand out of a hole in the bottom of a bag.

One would always want to think of oneself as being on the side of love, ready to recognize it and wish it well -but, when confronted with it in others, one so often resented it, questioned its true nature, secretly dismissed the particular instance as folly or promiscuity. Was it merely jealousy, or a reluctance to admit so noble and enviable a sentiment in anyone but oneself?

When you realize someone is trying to hurt you, it hurts less." "Unless you love them.

I think that one is constantly startled by the things that appear before you on the page when you're writing.

It's nervous work. The state you need to write in is the state that others are paying large sums of money to get rid of.