People Who Travel Are Always Fugitives.

When The Leaves Rustle, They Sound Very Much Like The Stealthy Movement Of A Woman In Evening Dress, And When They Shiver Suddenly, And Fall, And Scatter Away Along The Ground, They Might Be The Patter Of A Woman’s Hurrying Footsteps, And The Mark In The Gravel The Imprint Of A High-heeled Shoe.

What About The Hero Of The House On The Strand? What Did It Mean When He Dropped The Telephone At The End Of The Book? I Don't Really Know, But I Rather Think He Was Going To Be Paralysed For Life. Don't You?

Sometimes It’s A Sort Of Indulgence To Think The Worst Of Ourselves. We Say, ‘now I Have Reached The Bottom Of The Pit, Now I Can Fall No Further,’ And It Is Almost A Pleasure To Wallow In The Darkness. The Trouble Is, It’s Not True. There Is No End To The Evil In Ourselves, Just As There Is No End To The Good. It’s A Matter Of Choice. We Struggle To Climb, Or We Struggle To Fall. The Thing Is To Discover Which Way We’re Going.

Life And Death Do Not Wait For Legal Action.

Why, He Wondered, Should He Remember Her Suddenly, On Such A Day, Watching The Rain Falling On The Apple Trees?