All writing, all art, is an act of faith. If one tries to contribute to human understanding, how can that be called decadent? It’s like saying a declaration of love is an act of decadence. Any work of...
Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.
Would you reach in the drawer there and give me my purse. A girl doesn't read this sort of thing without her lipstick.
What I've found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany's. It calms me down right away, teh quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not...
Two features in his personality make-up stand out as particularly pathological. The first is his ‘paranoid’ orientation toward the world. He is suspicious and distrustful of others, tends to feel that...
The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call out there.
She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.
Reading dreams. That's what started her walking down the road. Every day she'd walk a little further: a mile, and come home. Two miles, and come home. One day she just kept on.
One day she told the class, ‘Nancy Clutter is always in a hurry, but she always has time. And that’s one definition of a lady.’
He loved her, he loved her, and until he'd loved her she had never minded being alone....
But, my dear, so few things are fulfilled: what are most lives but a series of incompleted episodes? 'We work in the dark, we do what we can, we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our pas...
As Miss Golightly was saying, before she was so rudely interrupted...
A sensible question, as Mrs. Clare, an admirer of logic, though a curious interpreter of it, was driven to admit.
All his prayers of the past had been simple concrete requests: God, give me a bicycle, a knife with seven blades, a box of oil-paints. Only how, how, could you say something so indefinite, so meaningl...
What we want most is only to be held…and told…that everything (everything is a funny thing, is baby milk and Papa’s eyes, is roaring logs on a cold morning, is hoot-owls and the boy who makes you cry...
What I’ve found does the most good is just to get into a taxi and go to Tiffany’s. It calms me down right away, the quiteness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there
Those final weeks, spanning end of summer and the beginning of another autumn, are blurred in memory, perhaps because our understanding of each other had reached that sweet depth where two people comm...
The stars were his pleasure, but tonight they did not comfort him; they did not make him remember that what happens to us on earth is lost in the endless shine of eternity. Gazing at them-the stars-he...
The mean reds are horrible. You're afraid and you sweat like hell but you don't know what you're afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen only you don't know what it is.
The feeble-minded, the neurotic, the criminal, perhaps, also, the artist, have unpredictability and perverted innocence in common.