Reading dreams. That's what started her walking down the road. Every day she'd walk a little further: a mile, and come home. Two miles, and come home. One day she just kept on.

I always write the end of everything first. I always write the last chapters of my books before I write the beginning....Then I go back to the beginning. I mean, it's always nice to know where you're going is my theory.

The way his plump hand clutched at her hip seemed somehow improper; not morally, aesthetically.

...of all things this was the saddest, that life goes on: if one leaves one's lover, life should stop for him, and if one disappears from the world, then the world should stop, too: and it never did. And that was the real reason for most people getting up in the morning: not because it would matter but because it wouldn't.

The brain may take advice, but not the heart.

there is only one unpardonable sin--deliberate cruelty. All else can be forgiven.

I haven't anything against whores, except this: some of them may have an honest tongue but they all have dishonest hearts.