She hardly ever thought of him. He had worn a place for himself in some corner of her heart, as a sea shell, always boring against the rock, might do. The making of the place had been her pain. But now the shell was safely in the rock. It was lodged, and ground no longer.
—T.H. White, The Once and Future King
You take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.
—Frida Kahlo, 1946.
You want women but you are never interested in the people you want, so you learn nothing. You’ve had love affairs but somehow you’ve stayed innocent, no not innocent, you are fundamentally vicious, but somehow immature.
—Iris Murdoch, The Sea, the Sea
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that the imaginary is the equivalent to the real: your skin, your vast, breathing skin will insist otherwise.
—Claire Messud, The Woman Upstairs