But luxury has never appealed to me, I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands.
Women want love to be a novel. Men, a short story.
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.
Happiness is not a possession to be prized, it is a quality of thought, a state of mind.
I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.
I wish I was a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls.
I suppose sooner or later in the life of everyone comes a moment of trial. We all of us have our particular devil who rides us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end.
Men are simpler than you imagine my sweet child. But what goes on in the twisted, tortuous minds of women would baffle anyone.
Either you go to America with Mrs. Van Hopper or you come home to Manderley with me." "Do you mean you want a secretary or something?" "No, I'm asking you to marry me, you little fool.
Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard.
We're not meant for happiness, you and I.
I have no talent for making new friends, but oh such genius for fidelity to old ones.
Because I want to; because I must; because now and forever more this is where I belong to be.
There is no going back in life. There is no return. No second chance.
...the routine of life goes on, whatever happens, we do the same things, go through the little performance of eating, sleeping, washing. No crisis can break through the crust of habit.
It wouldn't make for sanity would it, living with the devil.
Come and see us if you feel like it,' she said. 'I always expect people to ask themselves. Life is too short to send out invitations.
I believe there is a theory that men and women emerge finer and stronger after suffering, and that to advance in this or any world we must endure ordeal by fire.
Will you look into my eyes and tell me that you love me now?
The point is, life has to be endured, and lived. But how to live it is the problem.
I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone.
A dreamer, I walked enchanted, and nothing held me back.
Every moment was a precious thing, having in it the essence of finality.
Time will mellow it, make it a moment for laughter. But now it was not funny, now I did not laugh. It was not the future, it was the present. It was too vivid and too real.
Boredom is a pleasing antidote for fear
Why this man should love that woman, what queer chemical mix-up in our blood draws us to one another, who can tell?
I had build up false pictures in my mind and sat before them. I had never had the courage to demand the truth.
The moment of crisis had come, and I must face it. My old fears, my diffidence, my shyness, my hopeless sense of inferiority, must be conquered now and thrust aside. If I failed now I should fail forever.
We are all ghosts of yesterday, and the phantom of tomorrow awaits us alike in sunshine or in shadow, dimly perceived at times, never entirely lost.
I held out my arms to him and he came to me like a child.
