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.

Sometimes life takes hold of one, carries the body along, accomplishes one's history, and yet is not real, but leaves oneself as it were slurred over.

The difference between people isn't in their class, but in themselves. Only from the middle classes one gets ideas, and from the common people--life itself, warmth. You feel their hates and loves.

Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.

All vital truth contains the memory of all that for which it is not true.

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

We don't exist unless we are deeply and sensually in touch with that which can be touched but not known.