If you love her", I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.

Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing.

To look at her, you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying, at her own stupidities and luckiness, and at the strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend lifetime trying to learn and understand.

The body is amazingly stubborn when it comes to sacrificing itself to the annihilating directions of the mind.

I think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar opposition to being a writer, I suppose.

How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.

I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.