When one is writing a novel in the first person, one must be that person.

Women want love to be a novel. Men, a short story.

Women want love to be a novel, men a short story.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

A pleasantly situated hotel close to the sea, and chalets by the water's edge where one breakfasted. Clientele well-to-do, and although I count myself no snob I cannot abide paper bags and orange peel. ("Not After Midnight")

If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.