Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.

The feelings I don't have I don't have. The feelings I don't have, I won't say I have. The felings you say you have, you don't have. The feelings you would like us both to have, we neither of us have.

One should feel inside oneself for right and wrong, and should have the patience to gradually realise one's God.

I prefer unlucky things. Luck is vulgar. Who wants what luck would bring? I don't.

Nobody knows you. You don't know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?

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

He always ran away from the battle with himself. Even in his own heart's privacy, he excused himself, saying, "If she hadn't said so-and-so, it would never have happened.