It takes time for the absent to assume their true shape in our thoughts.

No temptation can ever be measured by the value of its object.

There is no need to waste pity on young girls who are having their moments of disillusionment, for in another moment they will recover their illusion.

By an image we hold on to our lost treasures, but it is the wrenching loss that forms the image, composes, binds the bouquet.

At the top of the iron staircase leading to the stage, the good, dry, dusty warmth wraps me round like a comfortable dirty cloak.

Perhaps the only misplaced curiosity is that which persists in trying to find out here, on this side of death, what lies beyond the grave.

In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer darkly take refuge.