She cried a little, but only inside, because long ago she had decided she didn't like crying because if you ever started to cry it seemed as if there was so much to cry about you almost couldn't stop, and she didn't like that at all.

Human memory works its own wheel, and stops where it will, entirely without reference to the last stop, and with no connection with the next.

Everybody has got to die, but I have always believed an exception would be made in my case.

Even after you've won fame and fortune, every time you write you've got to write, there's no shortcut, you have to start your career all over again.

Nothing good ever ends.

She cried a little, but only inside, because long ago she had decided she didn't like crying because if you ever started to cry it seemed as if there was so much to cry about you almost couldn't stop, and she didn't like that at all.

Sunday is the day people go quietly mad, one way or another.