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
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 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 compulsively superstitious person is also very often a serious believer in fate; that was the case with Perry.
The answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean... Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I'd rather have cancer than a disho...
That's the question: is truth an illusion, or is illusion truth, or are they essentially the same? Myself, I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true.
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.
It may be normal, darling: but I'd rather be natural.
I suppose you think I'm very brazen. Or très fou. Or something.'Not at all.'She seemed disappointed. 'Yes, you do. Everybody does. I don't mind. It's useful.
He loved her, he loved her, and until he'd loved her she had never minded being alone....
But, ah, the energy we spend hiding from one another, afraid as we are of being identified.
But, Doc, I'm not fourteen any more, and I'm not Lulamae. But the terrible part is (and I realized it while we were standing there) I am. I'm still stealing turkey eggs and running through a brier pat...
Before birth; yes, what time was it then? A time like now, and when they were dead, it would be still like now: these trees, that sky, this earth, those acorn seeds, sun and wind, all the same, while...
Are the dead as lonesome as the living?
Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot.
And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.
A sensible question, as Mrs. Clare, an admirer of logic, though a curious interpreter of it, was driven to admit.