I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?

Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined.

There's many a true word spoken in jest.

Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.

Have read little and understood less.

What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?