When you live alone, your furnishings, your possessions, are always confronting you with the thinness of your existence.

When I tried to do something else, everyone behaved as if I was Gypsy Rose Lee trying to paint a Matisse.

We are bound by the secrets we share.

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

There are certain people in whom you can detect the seeds of madness - seeds that have remained dormant only because the people in question have lived relatively comfortable, middle class lives. They function perfectly well in the world, but you can imagine, given a nasty parent, or a prolonged bout of unemployment, how their potential for craziness might have been realized.

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

Always mind the distance between your dreams and your reality.