So It Always Is: When

She Was Not Too Young To Be Wise, But She Was Too Young To Know That Wisdom Shouldn't Be Spoken Aloud When You Are Happy.

What An Unbearable Creature He Must Have Been In Those Days--and Yet In Those Days He Had Been Comparatively Innocent. That Was Another Mystery: It Sometimes Seemed To Him That Venial Sins--impatience, An Unimportant Lie, Pride, A Neglected Opportunity--cut You Off From Grace More Completely Than The Worst Sins Of All. Then, In His Innocence, He Had Felt No Love For Anyone; Now In His Corruption He Had Learnt.

When I Began To Write Our Story Down, I Thought I Was Writing A Record Of Hate, But Somehow The Hate Has Got Mislaid And All I Know Is That In Spite Of Her Mistakes And Her Unreliability, She Was Better Than Most. It's Just As Well That One Of Us Should Believe In Her: She Never Did In Herself.

Like The Characters In Chekhov, They Have No Reserves -– You Learn The Most Intimate Secrets. You Get An Impression Of A World Peopled By Eccentrics, Of Odd Professions, Almost Incredible Stupidities, And, To Balance Them, Amazing Endurances.

I Had To Touch You With My Hands, I Had To Taste You With My Tongue; One Can't Love And Do Nothing.