The Constant Happiness Is Curiosity.

I Saw How The Forms Of Love Might Be Maintained With A Condemned Person But With The Love In Fact Measured And Disciplined, Because You Have To Survive. It Could Be Done So Discreetly That The Object Of Such Care Would Not Suspect, Any More Than She Would Suspect The Sentence Of Death Itself.

In Your Life There Are A Few Places, Or Maybe Only The One Place, Where Something Happened, And Then There Are All The Other Places.

The Constant Happiness Is Curiosity.

I Just Believed It Easily, The Way You Might Believe And In Fact Remember That You Once Had Another Set Of Teeth, Now Vanished But Real In Spite Of That. Until One Day, One Day When I May Even Have Been In My Teens, I Knew With A Dim Sort Of Hole In My Insides That Now I Didn't Believe It Anymore.

I Read A Book Called The Art Of Loving. A Lot Of Things Seemed Clear While I Was Reading It But Afterwards I Went Back To Being More Or Less The Same.