Women, despite the fact that nine out of ten of them go through life with a death-bed air either of snatching-the-last-moment or with martyr-resignation, do not die tomorrow--or the next day. They have to live on to any one of many bitter ends.

Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows.

Why is there happiness and comfort and excitement where you are and no where else in the world.

Being in love, she concluded, is simply a presentation of our pasts to another individual, mostly packages so unwieldy that we can no longer manage the loosened strings alone.

["The Sun Also Rises" is about] bullfighting, bullslinging and bullsh[*]t.

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

She felt the essence of herself pulled finer and smaller like those streams of spun glass that pull and stretch till there remains but a glimmering illusion. Neither falling nor breaking, the stream spins finer. She felt herself very small and ecstatic. Alabama was in love.