I do not want to be admired. I want to give, to be given, and solitude in which to unfold my possessions.

There was a serenity about him always that had the look of innocence, when, technically, the word was no longer applicable.

But I don't think of the future, or the past, I feast on the moment. This is the secret of happiness, but only reached now in middle age.

Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.

Novels so often provide an anodyne and not an antidote, glide one into torpid slumbers instead of rousing one with a burning brand.

women have always been poor, not for two hundred years merely, but from the beginning of time. ... Women, then, have not had a dog's chance of writing poetry. That is why I have laid so much stress on money and a room of one's own.

For pleasure has no relish unless we share it.