Anatomy presupposes a corpse; psychology presupposes a world of corpses.

And that is ... how they are. So terribly physically all over one another. They pour themselves one over the other like so much melted butter over parsnips. They catch each other under the chin, with a tender caress of the hand, and they smile with sunny melting tenderness into each other's face.

Sleep is a hint of lovely oblivion.

But, especially in love, only counterfeit emotions exist nowadays. We have all been taught to mistrust everybody emotionally, from parents downwards, or upwards. Don’t trust anybody with your real emotions: if you’ve got any: that is the slogan of today. Trust them with your money, even, but never with your feelings. They are bound to trample on them.

The novel is the highest example of subtle interrelatedness that man has discovered.

One man isn't any better than another, not because they are equal, but because they are intrinsically other, that there is no termof comparison.

Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved.