There ought to be one place you thought about and knew about and maybe longed for--but never did get to see.
People have thoughts they'd sooner not have. It happens in life.
Love dies all the time, or at any rate it becomes distracted, overlaid--it might as well be dead.
It was comparable to getting sick from bad ventilation
It was all he could do. To make her see what she was doing, what she was ending, and to punish her if she did so. Nobody would blame him. There might be finagling, there might be bargaining, there wou...
It seemed to me that everybody ended up in Toronto at least for a little while.
Children use that word hate to mean various things. It may mean that they are frightened...It is not physical harm that is feared...so much as some spell, or dark intention. It is a feeling you can ha...
Children Katy’s age had no problem with monotony. In fact they embraced it, diving into it and wrapping the familiar words round their tongues as if they were a candy that could last forever.
It's not possible to advise a young writer because every young writer is so different. You might say, 'Read,' but a writer can read too much and be paralyzed. Or, 'Don't read, don't think, just write,...
And there was still a lot of soft snow in the bush. We
They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life.
They were a pair of people with no middle ground, nothing between polite formalities and an engulfing intimacy
The skin of everyday appearances stretched over such shamelessness, such consuming explosions of lust.
That was her way. She carried not noticing to an extreme. Not noticing, not intruding, not suggesting.
She hoped he wouldn’t ask what she was doing at the party. If she had to say she was a poet, her present situation, her overindulgence, would be taken as drearily typical.
Love removes the world for you, and just as surely when it's going well as when it's going badly.
Love is not for the undepilated.
It is all about a girl who is more interested in politics than in love... the Russian censors will not let it be published and the world outside will not want it because it is so Russian.
It had a sort of a head on it, like a mushroom, and its color was reddish purple. It looked blunt and stupid, compared, say, to fingers and toes with their intelligent expressiveness, or even to an el...
It almost seemed as if there must be some random and of course unfair thrift in the emotional housekeeping of the world, if the great happiness -- however temporary, however flimsy -- of one person co...