What birds were they? (...) He listened to the cries: like the squeak of mice be- hind the wainscot : a shrill twofold note. But the notes were long and shrill and whirring, unlike the cry of vermin, falling a third or a fourth and trilled as the flying beaks clove the air. Their cry was shrill and clear and fine and falling like threads of silken light unwound from whirring spools.

I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women.

I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.

O cold ! O shivery ! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet. Let me off this once.

When a man is born...there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.

This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.

Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.