Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope; it is impossible. |
Silences have a climax, when you have got to speak. |
Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities |
That is partly why women marry - to keep up the fiction of being in the hub of things |
The charm, one might say the genius of memory, is that it is choosy, chancy, and temperamental: it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust |
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart. |
The innocent are so few that two of them seldom meet - when they do meet, their victims lie strewn all round |
The innocent are so few that two of them seldom meet - when they do meet, their victims lie strewn all round |
The wish to lead out one's lover must be a tribal feeling; the wish to be seen as loved is part of one's self-respect |
There is no end to the violations committed by children on children, quietly talking alone. |
We are minor in everything but our passions |
When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out. |
Who is ever adequate? We all create situations each other can't live up to, then break our hearts at them because they don't. |