Of course she had some pathetic illusions about herself or she would not be able to go on living.
I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
As it was in the beginning, ... is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
Quite like old times,' the room says.
very few people change after well say seven or seventeen. Not really. They get more this or more that and of course look a bit different. But inside they are the same.