Love, even of the most ardent and soul-destroying kind, is never caught by the lens of the camera.

Love, even of the most ardent and soul-destroying kind, is never caught by the lens of the camera.

Who knows what oversensitive is, considering all there is to be sensitive to.

It's deprivation that makes people writers, if they have it in them to be a writer.

Satin and lace and brown velvet and the faint odor of violets. That was all which was left to him of his love.

I had inadvertently walked through a door that I shouldn’t have gone through and couldn’t get back to the place I hadn’t meant to leave.

The reason life is so strange is that so often people have no choice.