I simply wondered about the dead because their days had ended and I did not know how I would get through mine.
.citeerde uit11 dagen geleden
“Hella. Hella. One day, when you’re happy, try to forgive me.”
.citeerde uit11 dagen geleden
But that would not be comfort anymore, only torture, for both of us.
.citeerde uit11 dagen geleden
Much has been written of love turning to hatred, of the heart growing cold with the death of love.
.citeerde uit11 dagen geleden
The need to act was like a fever in me, the only act possible was the act of love.
.citeerde uit11 dagen geleden
But it seemed to me that morning that my ancient self had been dreaming the most dangerous dream of all.
.citeerde uit12 dagen geleden
“You may laugh,” she said, humorously, “but there is something in what I say. I began to realize it in Spain—that I wasn’t free, that I couldn’t be free until I was attached—no, committed—to someone.”
.citeerde uit12 dagen geleden
“For a woman,” she said, “I think a man is always a stranger. And there’s something awful about being at the mercy of a stranger.”
.citeerde uit13 dagen geleden
She fitted in my arms, she always had, and the shock of holding her caused me to feel that my arms had been empty since she had been away.
.citeerde uit13 dagen geleden
You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.”