“There's too much of that where-every-prospect-pleases-and-only-man-is-vile stuff buzzing around for my taste.”
“He was too well accustomed to suffering, and had suffered too much where he was, to bewail the prospect of change very severely.”
“It's such a huge arrogance to love someone, and there's too much of it around. There's too much love in this world. Sometimes I think that's what heavens is-- a place where everybody's happy because nobody loves anybody else, ever.”
“I read only to please myself, and enjoy only what suits my taste.”
“I sit around too much, waiting for other people to do stuff and angsting about stuff they've done, without doing anything myself.”
“There's a mathematics to nesting, I'm sure, that explains how length of stay + space available = accumulating way too much stuff.”