I cannot get any sense of an enemy - only of a disaster.

Men are free when they are obeying some deep, inward voice of religious belief. Obeying from within. Men are free when they belong to a living, organic, believing community, active in fulfilling some unfulfilled, perhaps unrealized purpose. Not when they are escaping to some wild west. The most unfree souls go west, and shout of freedom.

The dead don't die. They look on and help.

And then she realized that his presence was the wall, his presence was destroying her. Unless she could break out, she must die most fearfully, walled up in horror. And he was the wall. She must break down the wall. She must break him down before her, the awful obstruction of him who obstructed her life to the last. It must be done, or she must perish most horribly.

If I were the moon, I know where I would fall down.

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself

A museum is not a first-hand contact: it is an illustrated lecture. And what one wants is the actual vital touch.