...what is romance, but a mutual pact of delusion? When the pact ends , there's nothing left.

...what is romance, but a mutual pact of delusion? When the pact ends , there's nothing left.

I'm a child in that respect: able to live, physically speaking, on a crumb of anticipation for weeks at a time, but always in danger of crushing the waited-for event with the freight of my excessive hope.

I don't write books for people to be friends with the characters. If you want to find friends, go to a cocktail party.

If everybody was so reverent of the institute of marriage, how did all the adultery get committed?

It seems to me that my lack of faith is not, as I once thought, a triumph of the rational mind, but rather a failure of the imagination - an inability to tolerate mistery.

We are bound by the secrets we share.