She wanted to crawl into his pocket and be safe forever.
Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.
The kiss originated when the first male reptile licked the first female reptile, implying in a subtle way that she was as succulent as the small reptile he had for dinner the night before.
Later she remembered all the hours of the afternoon as happy – one of those uneventful times that seem at the moment only a link between past and future pleasure, but turn out to have been the pleasure itself.
It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment.
We must leave this terrifying place to-morrow and go searching for sunshine.
Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right.
I love her, and that’s the beginning and end of everything.
At any rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That’s a form of divine drunkenness that we can all try. There are only diamonds in the whole world, diamonds and perhaps the shabby gift of disillusion.
Grown up, and that is a terribly hard thing to do. It is much easier to skip it and go from one childhood to another.
Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses.
A woman should be able to kiss a man beautifully and romantically without any desire to be either his wife or his mistress.
Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
And lastly from that period I remember riding in a taxi one afternoon between very tall buildings under a mauve and rosy sky; I began to bawl because I had everything I wanted and knew I would never be so happy again.
Celibacy goes deeper than the flesh.
They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.
It takes two to make an accident.
Intermittently she caught the gist of his sentences and supplied the rest from her subconscious, as one picks up the striking of a clock in the middle with only the rhythm of the first uncounted strokes lingering in the mind.
The unwelcome November rain had perversely stolen the day’s last hour and pawned it with that ancient fence, the night.
She wouldn’t let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up in a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.