What's a cathedral without people?
What do any of us really know about love? It seems to me we're just beginners at love. We say we love each other and we do, I don't doubt it.
My heart is broken. It’s turned to a piece of stone. I’m no good. That’s what’s as bad as anything, that I’m no good anymore.
His eyes, Bonnie said. What about his eyes? They're sad eyes. Saddest eyes I ever saw on a man.
A big moon was laid over the mountains that went around the city. It was a white moon and covered with stars. Any damn fool could imagine a face there.
Art is made to seem effortless, but it takes some work.
There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know.
I didn't know if they could help me or not. Part of me wanted help. But there was another part.
Something’s died in me. It took a long time for it to do it, but it’s dead. You’ve killed something, just like you’d took an axe to it. Everything is dirt now.
You have to eat and keep going. Eating is a small, good thing in a time like this.
We ate everything there was to eat on the table. We ate like there was no tomorrow. We didn't talk. We ate. We scarfed. We grazed the table. We were into serious eating.
They nodded when the baker began to speak of loneliness, and of the sense of doubt and limitation that had come to him in the middle years.
When you open my letter you will recall those days and how much, just how much, I love you.
Every great or even very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications ... It is his world and no other.
I have winter in my beard now. So I've been told, anyway. Do I look distinguished, my dear?