That was the birth of sin. Not doing it, but KNOWING about it. Before the apple, [Adam and Eve] had shut their eyes and their minds had gone dark. Now, they peeped and pried and imagined. They watched themselves.

Only this shimmeriness is the real living. The shape is a dead crust. The shimmer is inside really.

So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or unhappiness.

The true unconscious is the well-head, the fountain of real motivity. The sex of which Adam and Eve became conscious derived fromthe very God who bade them be not conscious of it.

And all the time she felt the reflection of his hopelessness in her. She couldn't quite, quite love in hoplessness. And he, being hopeless, couldn't ever love at all.

And to my lips' Bright crimson rim The passion slips, And down my slim White body drips The shining hymn.

The essential function of art is moral. But a passionate, implicit morality, not didactic. A morality which changes the blood, rather than the mind.