Life has puffed and blown itself into a summer day, and clouds and spring billow over the heavens as if calendars were a listing of mathematical errors.

It's terrible to allow conventional habits to gain a hold on a whole household; to eat, sleep and live by clock ticks.

Anything incomprehensible has a sexual significance to many people under thirty-five.

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

Oh, the secret life of man and woman--dreaming how much better we would be than we are if we were somebody else or even ourselves, and feeling that our estate has been unexploited to its fullest.

Love is bitter and all there is, and that the rest is for the emotional beggars of the earth.

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.