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

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

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.

I remember every single spot of light that ever gouged a shadow beside your bones.

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.

Millie Beggs, by the time she was forty-five, had become an emotional anarchist.

The sky lay over the city like a map showing the strata of things and the big full moon toppled over in a furrow like the abandoned wheel of a gun carriage on a sunset field of battle and the shadows walked like cats and I looked into the white and ghostly interior of things and thought of you and I looked on their structural outsides and thought of you and was lonesome.