No Building Was Safe From The Furniture,

Unhappiness In A Child Accumulates Because He Sees No End To The Dark Tunnel. The Thirteen Weeks Of A Term Might Just As Well Be Thirteen Years.

One's Life Is More Formed, I Sometimes Think, By Books Than By Human Beings: It Is Out Of Books One Learns About Love And Pain At Second Hand.

Her Face Looked Ugly In The Attempt To Avoid Tears; It Was An Ugliness Which Bound Him To Her More Than Any Beauty Could Have Done. It Isn't Being Happy Together, He Thought As Though It Were A Fresh Discovery, That Makes One Love--it's Being Unhappy Together.

We Can Love With Our Minds, But Can We Love Only With Our Minds? Love Extends Itself All The Time, So That We Can Love Even With Our Senseless Nails: We Love Even With Our Clothes, So That A Sleeve Can Feel A Sleeve.

Thrillers Are Like Life, More Like Life Than You Are.