Una's face was an unbroken block of calculation, saving where, upon her upper lip, a little down of hair fluttered. Yet it gave one an uncanny feeling. It made one think of a tassel on a hammer.

Man is the only thing that has no further use after something goes amiss.

Life, the permission to know death.

What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?

To love without criticism is to be betrayed.

Only the impossible lasts forever.

We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.