“She too was standing in the lamp’s raw light. Her cheeks looked hollow, her lips too red, too bold.”

“There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.”

“She felt everything too deeply, it was like the world was too much for her.”

“Lula's borderline too much of a good thing in lots of ways. It isn't exactly that Lula is fat; it's more that she's too short for her weight and her clothes are too small for the volume of flesh she carries.”

“Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.”

“As a general rule you shouldn't expect too much from people darling,' and then I kiss her on the cheek.”

“It seems to me that we all look at Nature too much, and live with her too little.”

“She wanted to leave. I loved her too much to make her stay.”

“His mother had been the world to him, and although she had done her best to prepare him, he had been too young to fully understand what death meant—until she was gone, and the great, raw, gaping hole in his heart could not be filled or patched or mended. He looked for her everywhere, even after he had been shown her body—looked and looked and she could not be found.”

“She was too alert, too alive not to have the kind of mind that probed and reached and got her into trouble now and then.”