It was too exactly as imagined to be true. But I felt as gladly and expectantly disorientated, as happily and alertly alone, as Alice in Wonderland.

I mean I never feel I feel what I ought to feel.

In essence the Renaissance was simply the green end of one of civilization's hardest winters.

These last few days I've felt Godless. I've felt cleaner, less muddled, less blind. I still believe in a God. But he's so remote, so cold, so mathematical. I see that we have to live as if there is no God. Prayer and worship and singing hymns-all silly and useless.

Duty is but a pot. It holds whatever is put in it, from the greatest evil to the greatest good.

I think we are just insects, we live a bit and then die and that’s the lot. There’s no mercy in things. There’s not even a Great Beyond. There’s nothing.

Stained glass, engraved glass, frosted glass; give me plain glass.