I am afraid of people with too much charm. They devour you. In the end you are made a sacrifice to the exercise of their fascinating gift and their insincerity.

I'd sooner be smashed into a mangled pulp by a bus when we cross the street than look forward to a life like yours.

Imagination grows by exercise.

He did not care upon what terms he satisfied his passion. He had even a mad, melodramatic idea to drug her.

Charm and nothing but charm at last grows a little tiresome. It's a relief then to deal with a man who isn't quite so delightful but a little more sincere.

When married people don't get on they can separate, but if they're not married it's impossible. It's a tie that only death can sever.

I knew that suffering did not enoble; it degraded. It made men selfish, petty and suspicious. It absorbed them in small things...it made them less than men; and I wrote ferociously that we learn resignation not by our own suffering, but by the suffering of others.