They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.

Don't go looking at me like that because you'll wear your eyes out.

She might have liked to try to strangle him with those slender fingers of hers, but she wanted to make a job of it and this great patience with which she waited for her claws to grow was in itself a form of enjoyment.

It was always the same; other people gave up loving before she did. They got spoilt, or else they went away; in any case, they were partly to blame. Why did it happen so? She herself never changed; when she loved anyone, it was for life. She could not understand desertion; it was something so huge, so monstrous that the notion of it made her little heart break.

The thought is a deed. Of all deeds she fertilizes the world most.

An entire lifetime would not be long enough for you to exhaust the glance of the young harvest-girl.

Why is it that my heart is so touched whenever I meet a dog lost in our noisy streets? Why do I feel such anguished pity when I see one of these creatures coming and going, sniffing everyone, frightened, despairing of even finding its master?