The first breath of adultery is the freest; after it, constraints aping marriage develop.

Her only thought was of getting away, as if she were carrying a live grenade from inside the house, so that when it exploded, it would destroy just herself.

Every marriage of an intellectual with the communist party ends in adultery.

It's so hard to make a good tee shot after a birdie.

Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant. Of a teacher and a learner.

Nothing is more pleasurable than to sit in the shade, sip gin and contemplate other people's adulteries, and while the wormy apple of marriage still lives, the novel will not die.