Ultimately, Literature Is Nothing But Carpentry.

She Would Defend Herself, Saying That Love, No Matter What Else It Might Be, Was A Natural Talent. She Would Say: You Are Either Born Knowing How, Or You Never Know.

Everything That Belonged To Her Husband Made Her Weep Again: His Tasseled Slippers, His Pajamas Under The Pillow, The Space Of His Absence In The Dressing Table Mirror, His Own Odor On Her Skin. A Vague Thought Made Her Shudder: "the People One Loves Should Take All Their Things With Them When They Die.

The Only Difference Today Between Liberals And Conservatives Is That The Liberals Go To Mass At Five O'clock And The Conservatives At Eight.

It Had To Teach Her To Think Of Love As A State Of Grace: Not The Means To Anything But The Alpha And Omega, An End It Itself.

The Anxiety Of Falling In Love Could Not Find Repose Except In Bed.