We are adhering to life now with our last muscle - the heart.

We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.

Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.

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

Youth is cause, effect is age; so with the thickening of the neck we get data.

Dreams have only the pigmentation of fact.

“God,” she cried, “what is love? Man seeking his own head? The human head, so rented by misery that even the teeth weigh! She couldn't tell me the truth because she had never planned it; her life was a continual accident, and how can you be prepared for that? Everything we can't bear in this world, some day we find in one person, and love it all at once.”