“I found myself both touched and irritated by the discovery that she was vulnerable.”

“He lifted me up and held me close against him, my head on his shoulder. At that moment I loved him. In the morning light he was as golden, as soft, as gentle as myself, and he would protect me.”

“I shall live badly if I do not write, and I shall write badly if I do not live.”

“The one thing I regret is that I will never have time to read all the books I want to read.”

“I did not find him absurd. I saw he was kind, that he was on the verge of real love. I thought it would be nice for me to be in love with him, too.”

“A Strange melancholy pervades me to which I hesitate to give the grave and beautiful name of sorrow. The idea of sorrow has always appealed to me but now I am almost ashamed of its complete egoism. I have known boredom, regret, and occasionally remorse, but never sorrow. Today it envelops me like a silken web, enervating and soft, and sets me apart from everybody else.”

“The questions I would have liked to ask people were: ‘Are you in love? What are you reading?”