Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.

War is not women's history.

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

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.

But he could not taste, he could not feel. In the teashop among the tables and the chattering waiters the appalling fear came over him- he could not feel. He could reason; he could read, Dante for example, quite easily…he could add up his bill; his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then- that he could not feel.

At 46 one must be a miser; only have time for essentials.

I will achieve in my life - Heaven grant that it be not long - some gigantic amalgamation between the two discrepancies so hideously apparent to me. Out of my suffering I will do it. I will knock. I will enter.