With twice his wits, she had to see things through his eyes -- one of the tragedies of married life.

Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.

letters are venerable; and the telephone valiant, for the journey is a lonely one, and if bound together by notes and telephones we went in company, perhaps - who knows? - we might talk by the way.

Yet, she said to herself, form the dawn of time odes have been sung to love; wreaths heaped and roses; and if you asked nine people out of ten they would say they wanted nothing but this--love; while the women, judging from her own experience, would all the time be feeling, This is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than this; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.

It's my choice, to choose how to live my life.

I press to my centre, and find there is something there.

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.