But then peace, peace! I am so mistrustful of it: so much afraid that it means a sort of weakness and giving in.

Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.

The acrid scents of autumn, Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear

For how can a man stand, unless he have something sure under his feet. Can a man tread the unstable water all his life, and call that standing? Better give in and drown at once.

Good God, what does it matter? If life is a tragedy, or a farce, or a disaster, or anything else, what do I care! Let life be what it likes. Give me a drink, that's what I want just now.

I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts, or my thoughts the result of my dreams.

Far back, far back in our dark soul the horse prances.