“Does it matter how long they were together that night? To lovers, an hour can last a century. But even for lovers, every hour ends.”
“It should not matter, but it does. I want to know how many hours of the night are gone and how many remain and that there is no good reason for my wanting to know does not stop the wanting.”
“I took to the Bodleian library as to a lover and ... would sit long hours in Bodley's arms to emerge, blinking and dazed with the smell and feel of all those books.”
“What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe? ”
“They were connoisseurs of boredom. They savoured the various bouquets of the subtly differentiated boredoms which rose from the long, wasted hours at the dead end of night.”
“How stupid lovers can be! But if they were not, there would be no story.”