Love with its paraphernalia of sexuality, jealousy, nostalgia and exaltation was easier to reognize than friendship, which seemed to have (excepting athletic equipment) no paraphernalia at all.

The main emotion of the adult American who has had all the advantages of wealth, education, and culture is disappointment.

For lovers, touch is metamorphosis. All the parts of their bodies seem to change, and seem to become something different and better.

All of this-the shared apartment in the Village, the illicit relationship, the Friday-night train to a country house-was what he had imagined life in New York to be, and he was intensely happy.

I saw them come out and I saw that they were naked, unshy, beautiful, and full of grace, and I watched the naked women walk out of the sea.

Time, I thought, strips us rudely of the privileges of the bystander, and in the end that couple chatting loudly in bad French in the lobby of the Grande Bretagne (Athens) turns out to be us.

Tut your face in the dirt. Put your face in the dirt! Do what I say Put your face in the dirt." He fell forward in the filth.

If there is anybody I detest, it is weak-minded sentimentalists-all those melancholy people who, out of an excess of sympathy for others, miss the thrill of their own essence and drift through life without identity, like a human fog, feeling sorry for everyone.

He then joins her on her side of the bed and they engage in a back-breaking labor of love that occupies them for twenty minutes and leaves them both with a grueling headache.

His imagery for a big orgasm was winning the sailboat race, the Renaissance, high mountains.