Irish was a man of parts even if some of them didn't work too well.
For hours, for days, for years, she had wandered endlessly within herself but never met anybody, nobody.
Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself. You bring to a novel, anything you read, all your experience of the world. You bring your history and you read it in your own terms.
The end of exile is the end of being.
Among the monsters, I am well hidden; who looks for a leaf in a forest?
The one-eyed man will be King in the country of the blind only if he arrives there in full possession of his partial faculties--that is, providing he is perfectly aware of the precise nature of sight and does not confuse it with second sightnor with madness.