Our blindest impulses become evidence of perspicacity when they fall in with the course of events.

In any really good subject, one has only to probe deep enough to come to tears.

[I]t's safer to be fond of dangerous people.

She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted butterflies.

“Yes, the Gorgon has dried your tears,” he said. “Well, she opened my eyes too; it's a delusion to say that she blinds people. What she does is just the contrary — she fastens their eyelids open, so that they're never again in the blessed darkness.”

Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.

Who's 'they'? Why don't you all get together and be 'they' yourselves?