I hate a cramp, he thought. It is a treachery of one’s own body.
I had an inheritance from my father, it was the moon and the sun. And though I roam all over the world, the spending of it’s never done.
We all take a beating every day, you know, one way or another.
Even if he was ever afraid he knew that he could do it anyway.
You don’t have to destroy me. Do you? I’m only a woman who loves you and wants to do what you want to do. I’ve been destroyed two or three times already. You wouldn’t want to destroy me again, would you?
I wish I had died before I ever loved anyone but her.
There will always be people who say it does not exist because they cannot have it. But I tell you it is true and that you have it and that you are lucky even if you die tomorrow.
My father was a deeply sentimental man. And like all sentimental men, he was also very cruel.
Luck is a thing that comes in many forms and who can recognize her?
In those days, there was no money to buy books.
They arrested us after breakfast.
No one should be alone in their old age, he thought.
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
Your blood coagulates beautifully.
Thou wilt go now, rabbit. But I go with thee. As long as there is one of us there is both of us.
There isnt always an explanation for everything.
And this was the price you paid for sleeping together.
Imagination? It is the one thing beside honesty that a good writer must have. The more he learns from experience the more he can imagine.
Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light.
I did not understand them but they did not have any mystery, and when I understood them they meant nothing to me. I was sorry about this but there was nothing I could do about it.