She Wanted To Crawl Into His Pocket

The Transition From Libertine To Prig Was So Complete.

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.

So They Were Desperately In Love And Being Desperately In Love Involves A Desperate Existence.

Sometimes I Don't Know Whether I'm Real Or Whether I'm A Character In One Of My Novels.

I Learned A Little Of Beauty - Enough To Know That It Had Nothing To Do With Truth - And I Found, Moreover, That There Was No Great Literary Tradition; There Was Only The Tradition Of The Eventful Death Of Every Literary Tradition.