It is beautiful to be alone, it is also beautiful to to be in love, to be with people. And they are complementary, not contradictory.
She knew that he loved her above all else, more than anything in the world, but only for his own sake.
For they had lived together long enough to know that love was always love, anytime and anyplace, but it was more solid the closer it came to death.
There is always something left to love.
Time was not passing. . . it was turning in a circle.
When he went through the kitchen he kissed Rebeca on the forehead. "Get those bad thoughts out of your head," he told her. "You're going to be happy.
But when a woman decides to sleep with a man, there is no wall she will not scale, no fortress she will not destroy, no moral consideration she will not ignore at its very root: there is no God worth worrying about.
There is only one place to write and that is alone at a typewriter. The writer who has to go into the streets is a writer who does not know the streets. . . when you leave your typewriter you leave your machine gun and the rats come pouring through.
Fever jumped aside just in time to dodge the shower of urine, and stumbled into the path of a religious procession - celebrants in robes and pointed hats whirling and clapping and chanting the name of some old-world prophet, 'Hari, Hari! Hari Potter!'
I never really considered film as a career, but I knew I didn't want to be a builder. So I went to art college, and it just gradually happened.
Your own reason is the only oracle given to you by God.