Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuee! Nuee! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream . . . there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears . . . for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I'se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!

[...] a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend.

Any object, intensely regarded, may be a gate of access to the incorruptible eons of the gods.

if it is thus, I ask emphatically whence comes this thusness.

You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.

All human history moves towards one great goal

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.