It might be suggested, and not easily disproven that anything, no matter how exotic, can be believed by someone. On the other hand, abstract belief is largely impossible; it is the concrete, the actuality of the cup, the candle, the sacrificial stone, which hardens belief; the statue is nothing until it cries, the philosophy is nothing until the philosopher is martyred.

All cat stories start with this statement: "My mother, who was the first cat, told me this...

I wonder if I could eat a child if I had the chance.' 'I doubt if I could cook one,' said Constance.

I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny little movements inside.

Fear," the doctor said, "is the relinquishment of logic, the willing relinquishing of reasonable patterns. We yield to it or we fight it, but we cannot meet it halfway.

He is altogether selfish, she thought in some surprise, the only man I have ever sat and talked to alone, and I am impatient; he is simply not very interesting.

We moved together very slowly toward the house, trying to understand its ugliness and ruin and shame.