An accolade, one side a white cheek, the other a black. The white one she kissed on the left cheek, the black one on the right, as if these were two … - Nadine Gordimer

I was evidence of the theory that books are made out of other books . . . But I did not remain so for long, nor do I believe any potential writer could.

Oh dear, I’m sorry, Bra[brother] and Duncan remembers that “it was exactly the manner, the words, with which the man had announced the end of the months they had lived as lovers."

She had not kissed on the mouth, she had not sought anonymous lips and tongues in the licence of festival. Yet she had kissed. Watching herself again, she knew that. She did not tell what happened not because her husband would suspect licence in her.