One cannot find peace in work or in pleasure, in the world or in a convent, but only in one's soul.

She had no mercy. He looked at her neck and thought how he would like to jab it with the knife he had for his muffin. He knew enough anatomy to make pretty certain of getting the carotid artery. And at the same time he wanted to cover her pale, thin face with kisses.

The author always loads his dice, but he must never let the reader see that he has done so, and by the manipulation of his plot, he can engage the reader's attention so that he does not perceive the violence that has been done to him.

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.

Do you absolutely despise me, Walter?" "No." He hesitated and his voice was strange. "I despise myself.

The rain fell alike upon the just and upon the unjust, and for nothing was there a why and a wherefore.

I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don't.