I hate this place. I shall hate it to my grave.

All this was mine; but I was a long time learning that wisdom and experience are things apart; that to taste life is not to be confused with understanding what life is really all about. The shared experiences, the wisdom so freely proffered by others, in words and in example, rarely swayed me for long. Came another day and the import was gone, and only the echo of the laughter remained. Experience was a revolving sun in the warmth of which I was content to bask.

Never explain, never complain.

There is a peacefulness, an air of reflection, about a rocking-chair that attaches to no other moving object.

There can be no summary and dramatic end to a marriage - only a slow and painful unravelling of a tangled skein of threads too stubborn to be broken.

I never make a trip to the United States without visiting a supermarket. To me they are more fascinating than any fashion salon.

A marriage, even one that goes awry, generates claims and needs that persist like an afterglow long after the emotional fire is burned out.