We are all ghosts of yesterday, and the phantom of tomorrow awaits us alike in sunshine or in shadow, dimly perceived at times, never entirely lost.
But luxury has never appealed to me, I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands.
Happiness is not a possession to be prized, it is a quality of thought, a state of mind.
Look on each day that comes as a challenge, as a test of courage. The pain will come in waves, some days worse than others, for no apparent reason. Accept the pain. Little by little, you will find new strength, new vision, born of the very pain and loneliness which seem, at first, impossible to master.
A dreamer, I walked enchanted, and nothing held me back.
If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.
There is no going back in life. There is no return. No second chance.
Happiness happens when you fit with your life, when you fit so harmoniously that whatsoever you are doing is your joy. Happiness is not a possession to be prized, it is a quality of thought, a state of mind.
Women want love to be a novel, men a short story.
People who travel are always fugitives.
How simple life becomes when things like mirrors are forgotten.
Life and death do not wait for legal action.
A bad workman blames his tools.
When one is writing a novel in the first person, one must be that person.
Life was a series of greetings and farewells, one was always saying good-bye to something, to someone.
I suppose sooner or later in the life of everyone comes a moment of trial. We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end.
Living as we do in an age of noise and bluster, success is now measured accordingly. We must all be seen, and heard, and on the air.
I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone.
no person will ever get into my blood as a place can ... People and things pass away, but not places.
Writing every book is like a purge; at the end of it one is empty ... like a dry shell on the beach, waiting for the tide to come in again.
I wish I was a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls.
Boredom is a pleasing antidote for fear
We're not meant for happiness, you and I.
I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.
Every moment was a precious thing, having in it the essence of finality.
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