The Human Face Is, After All, Nothing

You Cannot Give To People What They Are Incapable Of Receiving.

What I Feel Is That If One Has Got To Have A Murder Actually Happening In One's House, One Might As Well Enjoy It, If You Know What I Mean.

Jealousy, You Know, Is Usually Not An Affair Of Causes. It Is Much More-how Shall I Say?-fundamental Than That. Based On The Knowledge That One's Love Is Not Returned. And So One Goes On Waiting, Watching, Expecting...that The Loved One Will Turn To Someone Else.

I Looked At Her. Sheila Was My Girl--the Girl I Wanted--and Wanted For Keeps. But It Wasn't Any Use Having Illusions About Her. Sheila Was A Liar And Probably Always Would Be A Liar. It Was Her Way Of Fighting For Survival--the Quick Easy Glib Denial. It Was A Child's Weapon--and She'd Probably Never Got Out Of Using It. If I Wanted Sheila, I Must Accept Her As She Was--be At Hand To Prop Up The Weak Places. We've All Got Our Weak Places. Mine Were Different From Sheila's, But They Were There.

No Innocent Person Ever Has An Alibi.