Have you noticed that only in time of illness or disaster or death are people real? I remember at the time of the wreck-- people were so kind and helpful and solid. Everyone pretended that our lives until that moment had been every bit as real as the moment itself and that the future must be real too, when the truth was that our reality had been purchased only by Lyell's death. In another hour or so we had all faded out again and gone our dim ways.

A novel is what you call something that won't sell if you call it poems or short stories.

In this world, goodness is destined to be defeated.

Joy and sadness come by turns.

Why is it that one can look at a lion or a planet or an owl or at someone's finger as long as one pleases, but looking into the eyes of another person is, if prolonged past a second, a perilous affair?

There is no pain on this earth like seeing the same woman look at another man the way she once looked at you.

Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon.