I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.

I am really only myself when I'm somebody else whom I have endowed with these wonderful qualities from my imagination.

Maybe other people's ideas of us are truer than our own.

I love you, even if there isn’t any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.

Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow. Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow.

Oh, we are going to be so happy away from all the things that almost got us but couldn't quite because we were too smart for them!

Women sometimes seem to share a quiet, unalterable dogma of persecution that endows even the most sophisticated of them with the inarticulate poignancy of the peasant.