Perhaps If We Lived With Less Physical

Italians Are Never Punctual; The Café, The Convenient Place To Wait, Absolves Them From That. There Is No Question Of Hanging About, No Looking Lost And Unwanted Or Even Disreputable, As There Is In Hotel Lobbies Or The Foyers Of Restaurants. One Just Sits And Enjoys The Scene, And Waits.

It Is The Impulse Of Our Century, With Its Nearly Religious Belief In Magnitude, To Fling An Institution Into Every Void.

I Have A Superstition That If I Talk About Plot, It's Like Letting Sand Out Of A Hole In The Bottom Of A Bag.

The Sweetness That All Longed For Night And Day. Some Tragedy Might Be Idly Guessed At-loss Or Illness. She Had The Luminosity Of Those About To Die.

When You Realize Someone Is Trying To Hurt You, It Hurts Less." "unless You Love Them.