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Satin and lace and brown velvet and the faint odor of violets. That was all which was left to him of his love.

William Maxwell

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William Maxwell
Brown
Left
Violets
Love
Satin
Odor
Lace
Violet
Velvet
Faint

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The nail doesn't choose the time or the circumstances in which it is drawn to the magnet
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Love, even of the most ardent and soul-destroying kind, is never caught by the lens of the camera.
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Reading is rapture (or if it isn't, I put the book down meaning to go on with it later, and escape out the side door).
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I am the cat that walks alone.
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Sometimes she goes out to work as a practical nurse, and comes home and sits by the kitchen table soaking her feet in a pan of hot water and Epsom salts. When she gets into bed and the springs creak under her weight, she groans with the pleasure of lying stretched out on an object that understands her so well.
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The reason life is so strange is that so often people have no choice.
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I had inadvertently walked through a door that I shouldn’t have gone through and couldn’t get back to the place I hadn’t meant to leave.
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If I had had to write only about imaginary people, I would have had to close up my typewriter. I wrote about my life in less and less disguise as I grew older, and finally with no disguise - except the disguise we create for ourselves, which is self-deception.
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My younger daughter told me recently that when she was a child she thought the typewriter was a toy that I went into my room and closed the door and played with.
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It was lovely when you found students who responded to things you were enthusiastic about.
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A writer is a reader who is moved to emulation.
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Who knows what oversensitive is, considering all there is to be sensitive to.
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His sadness was of the kind that is patient and without hope.
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People often ask themselves the right questions. Where they fail is in answering the questions they ask themselves, and even there they do not fail by much...But it takes time, it takes humility and a serious reason for searching.
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My father represented authority, which meant—to me—that he could not also represent understanding.
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What we refer to confidently as memory is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling.
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