These lights, this brightness, these clusters of human hope, of wild desire—I shall take these lights in my fingers. I shall make them bright, and whether they shine or not, it is in these fingers that they shall succeed or fail.

The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun.

When I'm with you, I don't breathe quite right.

She smiled, a moving childish smile that was like all the lost youth in the world.

Human sympathy has its limits.

His was a great sin who first invented consciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours.

For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing.