It is not our exalted feelings, it is our sentiments that build the necessary home. – Elizabeth Bowen
Only in a house where one has learnt to be lonely does one have this solicitude for things. Ones relation to them, the daily seeing or touching, begins to become love, and to lay one open to pain. – Elizabeth Bowen
Good-byes breed a sort of distaste for whomever you say good-bye to; this hurts, you feel, this must not happen again. – Elizabeth Bowen
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart. – Elizabeth Bowen