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One can live in the shadow of an idea without grasping it.
– Elizabeth Bowen
Nobody speaks the truth when there is something they must have.
Nothing can happen nowhere. The locale of the happening always colours the happening, and often, to a degree, shapes it.
Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope; it is impossible.
Who is ever adequate? We all create situations each other can’t live up to, then break our hearts at them because they don’t.
Art is one thing that can go on mattering once it has stopped hurting.
Never to lie is to have no lock on your door, you are never wholly alone.
Illusions are art, for the feeling person, and it is by art that we live, if we do.
Jealousy is no more than feeling alone against smiling enemies.
It is not helpful to help a friend by putting coins in his pockets when he has got holes in his pockets.
No object is mysterious. The mystery is your eye.
Nobody can be kinder than the narcissist while you react to life in his own terms.
There is no end to the violations committed by children on children, quietly talking alone.
If you look at life one way, there is always cause for alarm.
When you love someone all your saved up wishes start coming out.
We are minor in everything but our passions.
Silences have a climax, when you have got to speak.
Fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
Experience isn’t interesting until it begins to repeat itself. In fact, till it does that, it hardly is experience.
I think the main thing, don’t you, is to keep the show on the road.
All your youth you want to have your greatness taken for granted; when you find it taken for granted, you are unnerved.
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
Intimacies between women often go backwards, beginning in revelations and ending in small talk.
Fantasy is toxic: the private cruelty and the world war both have their start in the heated brain.
Language is a mixture of statement and evocation.