But there was, she knew, something else. Happiness, she supposed. Whatever that might be. What, exactly, she wondered, was happiness. Very positively she wanted it.

Well, what of it? If sex isn’t a joke, what is it

Children aren't everything. There are other things in the world, thought I admit some people don't seem to suspect it.

What are friends for, if not to help bear our sins?

It hurt. It hurt like hell. But it didn’t matter, if no one knew.

I think being a mother is the cruelest thing in the world.

It was only that she wanted him to be happy, resenting, however, his inability to be so with things as they were, and never acknowledging that though she did want him to be happy, it was only in her own way and by some plan of hers for him that she truly desired him to be so.

The trouble with Clare was, not only that she wanted to have her cake and eat it too, but that she wanted to nibble at the cakes of other folk as well.

Everything can't be explained by some general biological phrase.