The Hands Of The Guilty Don't Necessarily

Indifference And Pride Look Very Much Alike, And He Probably Thought I Was Proud.

You Cannot Love Without Intuition.

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.

We Remember The Details Of Our Story, We Do Not Invent Them.

In The End There Is No Desire So Deep As The Simple Desire For Companionship.