Romantic Love is only an Illusion. A story one makes up in One's Mind about Another Person.

When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.

She was like a crinkled poppy; with the desire to drink dry dust.

Vain trifles as they seem, clothes have, they say, more important offices than to merely keep us warm. They change our view of the world and the world's view of us.

All extremes are dangerous.

I find that when I've seen a certain number of people my mind becomes like an old match box -- the part one strikes on, I mean.

War is not women's history.