Dying for dark — and the darker the Worse. Strange.

I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.

All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.

As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.

Enough to know no knowing.

Don’t wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.

The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.