The lovesick, the betrayed, and the jealous all smell alike.

Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight.

If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.

I have found my voice again and the art of using it.

I did not look for her, because I was afraid of dispelling the mystery we attach to people whom we know only casually.

It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.

That lovely voice; how I should weep for joy if I could hear it now!