I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

To read a novel is a difficult and complex art.

When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?

There is a sadness at the back of life which some people do not attempt to mitigate. Entirely aware of their own standing in the shadow, and yet alive to every tremor and gleam of existence, there they endure.

Words belong to each other.

Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all be pure

He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.