You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination.

I suppose books mean more than people to me anyway

...one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a slowly developing picture.

His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be over-dreamed —that voice was a deathless song.

It's all life is. Just going 'round kissing people.

i'm a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires

You remind me of a smoked cigarette.