This noble body, equipped with everything necessary, almost to the point of bursting, also appeared to carry freedom around with it.

Sometimes I think I can expiate all my past and future sins through the aching of my bones.

Beyond a certain point there is no return. This point has to be reached.

The state we find ourselves in is sinful quite independent of guilt.

The door could not be heard slamming; they had probably left it open, as is the custom in homes where a great misfortune has occurred.

The delights of this life are not its own, but our fear of the ascent into a higher life; the torments of this life are not its own, but our self-torment because of that fear.

How pathetically scanty my self-knowledge is compared with, say, my knowledge of my room. There is no such thing as observation of the inner world, as there is of the outer world.