The hidden strength is too deep a secret. But in the end...in the end it is our only ally.

The creative strength is good enough and deep enough to bring itself to flower and to grow in spite of this sickness.

I have found this to be true, that one sin begets a dozen others.

...to experience the reality was to suffer a boredom as endless as the illness itself...the boredom of insanity was a great desert, so great that anyone's violence or agony seemed an oasis, and the brief companionship seemed like a rain in the desert that was numbered and counted and remembered long after it was gone.

She now knew that the death she feared might not be a physical one, that it could be death of the will, the soul, the mind, the laws, and thus not death, but a perpetual dying.

The hidden strength is too deep a secret. But in the end...in the end it is our only ally.

The woman was sane; she accepted the heavy penalties of reality and enjoyed its gifts also.