life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.

If there were no girls like them in the world, there would be no poetry

In little towns, lives roll along so close to one another; loves and hates beat about, their wings almost touching.

When kindness has left people, even for a few moments, we become afraid of them, as if their reason had left them.

Merely having seen the season change in a country gave one the sense of having been there for a long time.

If you don't keep and guard and mature your force, and above all, have time and quiet to perfect your work, you will be writing things not much better than you did five years ago.

Love itself draws on a woman nearly all the bad luck in the world